


Peanut Butter Jelly and You

by palateens



Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Anxiety Disorder, Everyone has anxiety, Growing Up Together, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, Kent "Loves Until He Bleeds" Parson, M/M, Multi, Polyamory, Polyamory Negotiations, Slow Build, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-29
Updated: 2017-02-23
Packaged: 2018-09-13 05:41:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 13
Words: 51,509
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9109015
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/palateens/pseuds/palateens
Summary: Summers for Eric meant Kent. Hockey for Kent meant Jack. Home for Jack was this intangible concept he was still looking for. They had exactly three things in common: sports, sandwiches, and each other.





	1. A Boy Named Kenny

Summers in Georgia meant the world to Eric Richard Bittle. It was the one time of year he had completely to himself. Now, Eric wasn’t an anti-social child, quite the opposite really. There was the occasional quip about him being “girly” or “one of the girls”, but he’d learned to tune that all out. Summers weren’t about escaping the people, rather the environment that school created. Where there was always a hierarchy based on who was the strongest, smartest, or prettiest. Eric might’ve been young, but he had a knack for recognizing exercises in futility.

Summers meant more time for baking with Mama and MooMaw. Summers meant running through the sprinklers on a sticky day (which was most of them). Summers meant trips to the library, the aquarium or the high art museum when it rained. Summers meant watching TV until Mama told him to stop—lest his brain rot. Summers meant he never had to worry about being last picked for kickball or partners.  For Eric, Memorial Day signaled the coming of two things: pools and Kent Parson.

Kenny’s father lived in the house next door. His parents were married until just after Eric was born. He lived most of the year with his mother and stepfather up in New York.  Summers meant having another boy in a neighborhood occupied by little girls and teenagers. Kenny was a few years older than Eric, but the gap never seem to bother them.

Kenny would watch old cartoons with him, and take him to the skate park with Mama’s permission. Eric learned how to play street hockey from an early age because of Kenny’s obsession with the sport. Once they got older, and Kenny had started visiting his father once a month during the school year, he’d made it his mission to teach Eric how to really skate. Kenny was gunning for Eric to take up hockey. However, that idea was quickly shot down after Eric saw some amateur skaters practicing one day when he was eight.

“What was that?” he whispers in awe as a girl lands a double salchow.

“It’s figure skating,” Kenny supplies with a small chuckle.

“Do you figure skate in hockey?”

“Not unless you wanna get checked into the ground,” Kent mumbles.

“Huh?”

“Nevermind,” he ruffles Eric’s hair. “You thinkin’ ‘bout figure skating Dicky?” Kent’s southern accent came out when he wasn’t paying attention, or else talking to the Bittles.

“Can I?” he looks up expectantly.

“‘Course,” Kent flashes him a smirk. “I’m not gonna stop you from doing something you like.”

That was one of the things Eric liked about Kenny. He was one of the few people who never expected Eric to be like anybody else. Kenny always told him to just ‘go for it’. And he never had to worry about what other people thought of him while Kenny was around. You see, Kenny was what MooMaw liked to call a spitfire. He was the boy with the kilowatt smile and an answer for everything. He was carefree a vast majority of the time.  

That being said, every boy in town knew that Eric Bittle was strictly off limits to pick on.

One time, Bobby Anderson threw Eric halfway down the lunch line. It took Eric a good hour to wash out all the mash potatoes from his hair and his shirt was stained for the rest of the day in green beans. The bruises from where Bobby had grabbed him took longer to fade. The next Saturday, Bobby came home from the park with a black eye. No one messed with Eric for a very long time after that.

Truth be told, Eric wasn’t so happy about this phenomenon. He wanted people to respect him, not fear him because of his friend. Was friend even the right word for Kenny? Their relationship morphed over the years from older brother to best friend. Eric still wonders at what point did he fall head over heels for Kenny. He thinks it was probably the last time Kenny came to visit. It was the summer of 2007, right after his first season with the Quebec Major Junior Hockey League.

“How is it?” Eric’s practically jumping with excitement in the passenger’s seat of his dad’s truck.

Coach had let Kenny borrow his old pickup truck to buy fireworks from a roadside vendor on the county line. Kenny had bought everything on the list, but had taken the liberty of buying some extras with his own cash. The day was balmy and few clouds could be seen overhead.

“Awesome, it’s… like I’m dreaming sometimes, honestly.” Kent smiles easily; his rats’ nest hair is neatly hidden underneath his Rimouski Oceanic cap.

“You like your teammates?”

The older snorts. “I kinda have to, Dicky.”

“I wish you wouldn’t call me that,” Eric leans further into his seat.

Kenny laughs, it floods Eric’s ears better than any cardinal’s song. A warmth spreads inside of him, his younger self wonders if this is what love feels like.

“And are you gonna start calling me Kent?” he snaps Eric out of his trance.

“Never,” Dicky shoots him a fiendish smirk as he flips the radio to the only pop channel for miles.

“Ditto, now c’mon you gotta see this,” Kent pulls off the county road. He stops a mile onto a large patch of dirt on the outskirts of a dairy farm. He beckons Eric to follow him, grabbing some of the fireworks from the bed.

“Are you sure this is legal?” He eyes the matches in Kent’s hand wearily.

“Not at all,” Kent’s voice is as cocky as is it smooth.

“Not what?” Eric squawks, “not sure or not legal?”

“Sure,” Kent shrugs, deflecting the question.

“You don’t have to drive me up the wall, Kenny,” he huffs indignantly.

“Just wait until we’re older and I can take you out on the town,” Kent winks.

Eric had known him literally his entire life. He knew that despite the airhead façade he gave to the world, Kenny always chose his words wisely. “You drinkin’ already Kenny?” He dares to ask.

“Occasionally, it’s no big deal in Canada. My buddy Jack and I go all the time.” Kent smiles genuinely.

Eric sighs, maybe it was no big deal. But things had a way of blowing up Kenny’s face. No matter his intention. “Bless his heart.”

Kent blanches momentarily. “You sure you wanna stick to skating? You’d have the most brutal chirps in the history of the NHL.”

“I’ll stick to whooping your ass in other ways, thanks,” he hip checks Kent lightly.

A blush creeps up Kent’s neck, but he otherwise ignores Eric’s comment. Kenny lights the firework, he mentioned it was called a frog prince, whatever that means.  It erupted in a large column of white light. From the top, smaller sparks shot off the side. It crackled in all directions, some sparks jumping down and back out. He was starting to understand why Kenny insisted doing this on a wide and empty road. The column grew smaller, but got its second wind as its color shifted to a bright red. It continued for another minute before fizzling out.

“Worth the trip huh?”

Eric shrugged, “it was fine.”

“I’ll take it,” Kent hugs the life out of Dicky. Dicky, against his best efforts, melts into the hug.

They head back to the Bittle residence. There’s a quiet lull in the conversation. The windows are half open to avoid using the air conditioner. The sound of a dog barking not too far off distracts Eric from listening to the Beyoncé CD Kenny had bought him last Christmas.

“My dad’s selling his place,” Kent announces when they’re a few blocks away from their street.

“Oh,” Eric wants to smack himself. But honestly, what else can he say? Good luck, see you next life?

“Yea, he got a job in Austin,” Kent explains. “It starts next month.”

Eric’s stomach drops, rolling in nerves. “When am I supposed to see you?”

“I don’t know, Dicky,” his voice is hoarse, vulnerable. “Could be years…”

Eric catches his wrist, squeezing it gently. “Then I guess you’re just gonna have to become a big NHL hotshot and come visit me with the Cup.”

Kent smirks, his eyes get moist, “cross my heart.”

A beat of silence consumes all the oxygen they have. Dicky rolls his window down further. “You won’t forget me, will you?” He stares at the anonymous houses rolling by. He thinks about how growing up is natural, but he feels like his childhood is being ripped from him.

“Never,” Kent’s voice is unwavering. Eric looks back, Kent’s never looked so determined.  “You’re one of the best parts of my life,” he swears.

Eric nods, still feeling numb. “Good, ‘cuz you are too, mister smarmy.”

The next day, Kenny turns sixteen. He spends the day with the Bittles and his dad. They launch fireworks at the park. Dicky spends the night curled into Kent; memorizing the feeling of having him close. The morning after, Eric wakes up at seven am to help Mama make breakfast. Kent and his father come over to join them. For once, the wafting scent of fresh berries and whipped cream isn’t enough to perk Eric up.

Afterwards, Eric and Coach help them put all of Kent’s Georgia belongings into Mr. Parson’s car. Kenny shakes Coach’s hand, to which Coach pulls him into a bear hug.  Mama cries and hugs the life out of him; making Kenny promise to eat properly and send them his new address once he gets settled in Canada. Eric is hesitant to acknowledge that this is goodbye, possibly forever. When Kenny hugs him anyway, Eric’s resolve crumbles. He’s visibly shaking as he clings onto his old friend for dear life.

“I’ll miss you,” Kent admits softly.

The middle schooler whimpers in his embrace. “Do you really have to leave?”

Kenny sighs, pulling him in closer. “For now, you can hoot and holler at me once I get drafted.”

“Promise?” Dicky talks into his shirt.

“I cross my heart,” he does the motion above Eric’s head.

“and hope to die,” Eric mutters softly. “See you around, Kenny.”

He rests his chin on the boy’s head. “‘Til next time, Dicky.”

Logically, Eric knew things would be different around town. Neither he nor his parents realized how different it would be, though. After seventh grade, which Eric dubbed the ‘year from hell’, they moved to Madison. He was relieved for the fresh start. Somewhere closer to the city, where no one had made it their personal mission to cause him bodily harm.

He couldn’t help but worry about Kenny. Was he happy? Did those injuries hurt worse than he let on during interviews? But as time went on, and he grew into his own person, Kent Parson mattered less and less. After figure skating got to be too expensive for his parents, Eric decided to finally try hockey. He was captain for two years in high school for his coed team. Now he only thought about Kenny during his pregame ritual. It was one of the few things about the boy that stuck with Eric. Kenny always made a peanut butter and jelly sandwich before every game.

“Why?” Eric had asked him one day in the fifth grade.

“To get me in the zone, I guess,” Kent licks his lips as he meticulously swipes peanut butter onto his bread. “It’s like a consistency thing.”

“Should I do that to? Before skating competitions?”

Kent shrugged, “only if you want to. But don’t just do what I do. Make it your own.”

Which is how Kenny had taught him the art to a perfect pb&j: four strokes of peanut butter and three for jelly. Eric used the same brand of bread and peanut butter every time. The jelly changed as he got more into the culinary arts and learned to make his own. Eric also had his pregame playlist that he danced to as he made and ate his sandwich.

It was secondary for memories of Kenny—his infectious laugh, messy blond locks, and brilliant hazel eyes—to creep into his mind. As fast as these images flitted through Eric’s brain, they never coaxed him to seek out Kenny. He knew when the time came, they’d find each other again. The last he’d heard; Kenny had won the Cup for the team in Las Vegas. When he called MooMaw to ask if they were gonna hold a parade for him, she said no one had heard from him. It stung a bit to think that Kenny had moved on, but that was just the reality of it.

They’d both grown up, Eric supposed. In his weaker moments, Eric acerbically wondered what he had done to deserve being dropped like trash. Those thoughts were ephemeral all the same.  There was still a place in his heart for Kenny, always. He’d been accepted to Samwell on a hockey scholarship a few days before. He was sure Kent Parson would come up at some point. That was bound to get him some bragging rights once he fit in. If that were ever his style.

No, Eric was starting to think that he’d be the guy that a ghost writer contacts in ten or twenty years for Kenny’s autobiography. For a “real” perspective about the great Kent Parson’s childhood. Or who knows, maybe Eric would be so good at whatever he ended up doing that Kenny would reach out to him. He just couldn’t predict every possible outcome. For now, he was just Eric Richard Bittle, son, baking enthusiast, hockey player.  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This fic was originally titled A Boy Named Kenny. I figured I'd keep it for this chapter since it still embodies the essence of Bitty remembering someone he used to care about. (Alternative chapter title - Little Brother by Ella Vos)


	2. Anyone

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kent Parson loved people. Most of all he loved Jack Zimmermann.

Kent Parson loves Las Vegas. No that’s a lie. What Kent loves about Vegas is the people. The iridescent buildings and roaring crowds at night that made him feel small, comforted.  He enjoyed getting lost in the crowds. Feeling the intense high that came with meshing tourists, drunkards, and activists on narrow sidewalks. The strip was the only place he could get lost among the masses. No one tended to recognize him, and their calls were usually drowned out by someone else anyway. The world tingle with excitement and trepidation. Being there made him feel like a part of something. Like a person, warm-blooded and deserving of a happy ending.

 “Jack,” the name escapes his lips without him noticing. It’s a soft lull that’s easily erased as he walks past the Bellagio.

Jack becomes less like a person and more like an abstract concept with each day. In the beginning, Kent had tried everything to keep them together. His GM had threatened to cut him loose with how much of his rookie season was dedicated to getting Jack back.

Getting the Calder didn’t work.  Getting the Cup only got him a disappointing argument inside of Jack’s frat house. He’d shown up on Jack’s birthday with his ring and a case of Discovery Channel documentaries. Upon knocking, he was greeted amicably, chatted up the boys some, and shown the direction of Jack’s room. He’d texted Jack every day for nearly a year and a half. Kent counted his lucky stars if Jack would reply even a ‘shut up’ once a month. He’d told Jack he was coming. He’d messaged him about it five times since the Aces won. The look of surprise on Jack’s face was almost as insulting as the quiet rage that replaced it.

“I…I-uh, this was easier in my head,” he struggles, running a hand through his hair.

“What are you doing here Kenny,” Jack grimaces.

“I came like I promised,” the word’s come out like a child waiting to be reprimanded.

Kent can barely make out the World War II propaganda poster hung on Jack’s wall. He’s avoiding the intensity of Jack’s eyes, his rage.

Jack doesn’t notice as he examines the DVD’s in Kent’s hand.  He leans in closer, creating a barricade for his room. “Why?”

“Jesus, Zimms,” Kent sighs, reigning in his frustration. “Isn’t it possible that I wanted to spend time with you?”

“I think you should leave,” Jack says quietly.

Kent scowls. “And I beg to disagree. We should talk. Fuck, this,” he holds out his hand. His Cup ring glints in the afternoon light. “Is as much yours as it is mine. I never would’ve gotten there without you.”

Jack stiffens, “I’m not interested in your pity.”

“It’s not pity!” Kent flinches at the boom of his own voice. “See, we need to talk. Please?”

Jack whispers dangerously, “I have nothing to say to you.”

“What did I do Zimms?” Kenny pushes.  “I can’t fix it if I don’t know what’s broken.”

“Get out, now,” he demands, straightening up to make himself look even taller.

“Why?” His voice trembles along with his hands. He grips the box tightly, grounding himself. “If you need more time, then tell me. But for fuck’s sake, don’t treat me like I’m some puck bunny here to mooch on your fifteen minutes of fame. Alright? I care about you. Shit I lo-“

“Don’t say that,” Jack interrupts. “You don’t mean it.”

“Of course I do,” Kent feels the blood seep out of his face, and his heart, straight into the floor boards and straight down to hell. The hallway is too cold.

Jack’s expression softens slightly before hardening beyond recognition. He’s stepping back to closer the door, Kent can tell.

“Please, don’t shut me out,” Kent pleads.  

Jack rubs his temple harshly. Kent, on reflex, reaches out to make sure he isn’t hyperventilating. The motion startles Jack, he slams the door in Kent’s face. He sauntered down the stairs calmly, spotting a younger student sun bathing half naked on the roof he called out in nothing but his birthday suit.

“Hey, you friends with Jack?” He calls up.

“Nah, Jack’s a—” the kid’s aviators slip down his nose. His jaw goes slack, “holy fuck are you Kent Parson?”

In the flesh, Kent gives him a dazzling smile that doesn’t reach his eyes. “Do yourself a favor, get to know him. It’s worth it.”

The boy shrugs in confusion. “Sure, brah. I mean, he seems cool enough when we hang out.”

“Here,” Kent tosses up the box. Thank fuck for tight packaging.

“Shit,” he yelps as he scrambles to catches it.

“His birthday is today, give em’ those. Tell him they’re from you,” Kent instructs.

“Thanks…I think.”

Kent salutes him before walking away. He drives a few blocks away, parking in a garage outside of campus. His face is numb, he can barely control his quivering hands as he turns the ignition off.

“May 5th, July 4th, August 3rd ,” he murmurs to himself repeatedly.

“May 5th, July 4th, August 3rd.” his vision blurs around the edges while he loses feeling in his face. He struggles to put on a playlist of acoustic guitar, focusing on the chords.

“May 5th, July 4th, August 3rd,” he loses track of how long he sits there.

“The salt in my wounds isn’t burning any more than it used to,” he murmurs softly to the song burying his face into the steering wheel.

Rumors circled around after Kent got drafted first. Everything from almost-true accounts of Jack’s OD to conspiracy theories about Jack covering for Kent. Kent didn’t have a drug problem. The thing that no one knew about Jack Zimmermann is that while he was trying to keep the world happy, Kent was trying to keep him happy. At first, it was easy to ignore the issue because he barely knew the guy. As a friend, Kenny could chirp him out of a few drinking binges. Then he fell in love.

That’s when the game changed.

Kent learned how to be terrified for and by Jack. For the wellbeing of his favorite person and the fear of what he’d do high. In hindsight, it was stupid to get drunk with him. But it seemed simpler when he was trying to suppress his own panic. So, that’s what he did. He drank, and he looked over Jack. He sobered them both up for practice, and trained harder.  The Q had made them realize how underprepared they were for professional sports. It took all of Kent’s energy to put on this front of superiority for everyone, Jack especially. Someone had to be strong, even when he wasn’t. So, they’d drink more. Jack was more likely to listen to him wasted anyway.

Jack Zimmermann was a train wreck, but Kent Parson was the conductor keeping him on track for so long. Because they’d worked too hard to stop. Because they were young and in love (or so he thought). Because the anger in Jack’s eyes when Kenny suggested they stop ( _stop drinking, stop hiding, fuck I’d quit hockey if we could be ok. Zimms, you matter more to me than some trophy ok?_ ) felt worse than any drunken fight or hangover. Kent doesn’t drink anymore. There’s too much stupid shit he could do blacked out. Among them, call Jack.  

If Kent’s honest with himself, he doesn’t know how to feel about Jack anymore because he can’t pinpoint who Jack is now. There was the shy prodigy his first season in the Juniors. The drunken asshole who couldn’t sober up without having a panic attack. The guy who held him in bed on Sunday mornings when they should’ve been exercising. The eyes that used to follow him around a room at parties, desperate for a reason to leave that Kenny was happy to supply. Kent hated parties, but he loved Zimms. And wasn’t that what everything from those years boiled down to?

The thought punches Kent in the gut as he heads back to his penthouse. His chest tightens painfully. It didn’t matter how much he loved and cared for Zimms. Love didn’t save Jack from himself and love wasn’t there when Kent needed him the most.

Jack Zimmermann could afford a year of rehab. He could afford to attend an Ivy League school, have a therapist on call, and fly out to multiple prospective camps every summer. Jack Zimmermann could get his life back together and mold it into whatever he wanted. Kenny Parson from Geneva, New York had one shot of getting out of his town, paying his parents back and making everyone proud. He couldn’t afford to waste it.  

NHL star Kent Parson probably had money and time to waste. As he closes his apartment door and immediately sheds his clothing, he thinks maybe he should. There’s probably something wrong with having nightmares of your half-dead ex-something drowning in a pool of his own vomit.  Even worse when he wakes up from a restless sleep to realize he’d been choking in his dream.

Jack has been everything to Kent: a friend, a rival, a lover, an escape, an inner demon, salvation, a corpse. Slipping into bed, Kenny wonders if he’s peaked. Hockey doesn’t feel as good as it used to. The only things that gave him joy are long gone. And who would want a broken piece of shit anyway?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title - Anyone by Lauren Sanderson


	3. Last Hope

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eric Bittle is one of the biggest distractions he could have ever encountered, Jack decides.

Eric Bittle is one of the biggest distractions he could have ever encountered, Jack decides. His head isn’t in the game and the way he can’t, just, _deal_ with checks is aggravating to no end. This kid is flaky at best, a liability at worst. Jack has never wanted to pull rank as much as he does when Bittle faints for the third time in a week at practice. It’s _practice_ for fuck’s sake.  Who would miss a brat who can barely hold himself on the ice?

Or so Jack had thought until the first game of the season.

Bittle has an amazing assist, as much as Jack hates to admit.  Dartmouth isn’t their biggest competition, but there’s so much that Jack sees in between Bittle’s assist and the end of Samwell’s cellie. Joy, pride, and sheer surprise flickering in Bittle’s eyes. He’s weary of the team’s praise, as if he needs a more concrete reason to be lauded. That’s when it clicks to Jack. Bittle is a good player, he just doesn’t see that in himself…yet.

This thought keeps him awake well past the end of their kegster that night. It isn’t his anxiety that disturbs him, no. Jack had forgotten how nice unadulterated excitement could feel. He falls asleep strategizing, thinking of pucks hitting the back net and blonds reaching up to hug him. He wakes up with an emptiness in the pit of his stomach, it aches but he’s no less determined than the night before. He hauls Bittle to Faber the next morning with hardly any protest. It’s a good sign of the things to come. It makes disconnecting him from Kent that much easier.

 Looking at Bitty, there wasn’t much he had in common with Kent besides a short stature and blond hair. But that was before the first Kegster of the year when he saw Bittle come and go with a gaggle of men as if he had them completely entranced by his southern charm. It’s a bit of an alter ego, Bitty at a kegster. No one believes he’ll last more than an hour before ducking into a kitchen. Boy, were they dumbstruck by his conquests.

 “Jesus, Bits,” Shitty chirps. “what are you doing? Eating them alive?”

Bitty offers him a cryptic smirk and a quick wink. Eric Richard Bittle was not afraid of flaunting his sexuality, Jack realized. His easy smile and perfect molasses voice that dipped even lower when he was whispering obscenities made him a dead ringer for Kenny.

Not only that, Kent was there in the way Bittle sneers when he clearly wants to talk back but begrudgingly says ‘yes sir’ instead. Or in the way Bitty grinds against Chad the day he humiliated and dumped March in public, only to steal his clothing and fling it onto their team’s roof early the next morning. Bittle even reminds him of Kenny with that look of sheer joy he gets whenever he steps onto the ice. Like he was born to be there.

Jack wonders how a kid like that ended up in his life. Eric treats him with a healthy dose of caution and empathy if Jack is reading him correctly. He thinks it’s a mistake, so he keeps Bittle at arm’s length; interacting with him at the bare minimum to make sure he doesn’t screw up plays. When Bitty doesn’t look like he wants to punch Jack out, there’s worry etched into his forehead. Jack wonders if he’ll ever get away from people who try too hard to care about him and get burned in the process.

It’s not that Jack didn’t love Kent. Quite the contrary, there wasn’t a day that went by that he didn’t miss him, _them_. It was hard enough to face Kenny after he was drafted. Humiliating is the word that comes to mind. Humiliating that despite everything they had worked for, Jack failed them both. He’d failed everyone. Kent didn’t need someone like that in his life. Or that’s what he thought back then.

From time to time, Jack watches the Aces play on TV or looks up one of Kent’s post-game interviews. It’s cathartic and stupid, but it helps Jack to feel. Sometimes the waves of pain remind him how far he’s come from that kid they found lying on his bathroom floor. But it breaks him a little just as often. It’s not that Kent’s success means Jack’s failure. He knows that now. Kent didn’t steal his spot, and he’ll never know how the draft would’ve turned out if he hadn’t overdosed. What hurts is the hollow look in Kent’s eyes as he flashes a mega-kilowatt smile at a camera. Every time he caught a video of Kent schmoozing some reporter, he smiled brighter and brighter. The misery was creeping closer and closer to the surface. He wonders who has more to apologize for, him or Kenny.

The more Kenny tried to reach out to him, the more confused and angered Jack became. Why did he have to make everything more difficult? Why could he never leave well enough alone? Maybe it wasn’t anyone’s fault. Maybe it was the looming idea of fame, legacy, and the whispers the media parroted of the _inseparable duo_ that made them crack under the pressure of it all. That doesn’t mean he can look back while Kent’s already six steps ahead of him.  Jack winces at his train of thought. Studying at Annie’s without earbuds was bad enough without throwing musings of Kent Parson into the mix.

 It took Kent a few years to figure it out, but he finally got the message. He hadn’t heard from him this year aside from some well-wishing around holidays or Jack’s birthday. Jack’s still convinced that Kenny has something to do with Shitty’s annual “get Jack laid” birthday bonanza. He wondered if they would even be friends if it weren’t for that stupid box set Kent had pawned off to Shitty. Jack had wanted to be friends with Shitty, but socializing felt new and raw their freshman year. He wondered if he’d ever get over Kent, or forget him long enough to move on with his life.

Some days it felt more possible than others. The concept had even seemed attainable at the end of last semester. Of course, that was BB (before Bittle). Good news, Bittle was adequate at taking direction and improved his game gradually. He was kind and soft spoken in a way Kent hadn’t been for a very long time. Although that doesn’t make it any easier to ignore the glares Eric gives him when Jack refuses to feign pleasantries.

One day before a major home game, Jack finds Bitty in the Haus kitchen. He was rocking out to SIA (although Jack would never admit to knowing that) while making a sandwich, a peanut butter and jelly sandwich. A shiver creeped down Jack’s spine as he found yet another resemblance to Kent. Bitty was so engulfed in the music that when a hand rested on his shoulder, he jumped.

“What are you doing here?” Jack clears his throat awkwardly. His voice always sounded more aggressive around people he was uncomfortable with.

“Oh, hey Jack,” Bitty says amicably, returning to his task cheerfully. “I needed a kitchen to make my sandwich.”

Jack balks at him. “ _Your_ sandwich?”

“Yes, _my_ sandwich,” the blond insists. “Cat got your tongue or something?”

“You’re making a peanut butter and jelly sandwich,” he parrots in disbelief.

“Yes?” Bittle looks at Jack like he’s grown an extra head. “It’s my pregame ritual. Well that and my playlist.”

Jack scrutinizes Bitty closely, to which Bitty shrugs, ignores him and sits down to eat his sandwich. “What are you doing now?”

“Eating?” Bitty is absolutely flabbergasted, it doesn’t do much to clear up Jack’s confusion. “I’m sorry, is this some hazing thing? Is that what’s going on?”

“You’re eating my sandwich,” Jack sits down at the table. He points accusingly to Bittle’s plate. “That’s my pregame ritual, Bittle.”

“I don’t know what on God’s green earth you’re talking about, _captain_ ,” he flashes that not-so-subtle sneer at Jack again. “This is my sandwich. The sandwich I’ve been making since I was eleven. Hell, I used to make this before skating competitions.”

Jack assess him critically. “I don’t believe you.”

Bitty sighs, “believe what you want, it’s the truth. I’ll make one for you if you’d like.”

It’s not a terrible idea. “Fine.”

“Really?”

“Yes, really,” Jack insists calmly.

“Alright, suit yourself,” Bitty pushes himself up. He makes the sandwich with four strokes peanut butter, three of homemade strawberry jam, and one to mix them together.

If there’s one thing Jack has learned about his anxiety, it’s to communicate: his expectations, his confusion, and everything in between. “Why this bread?”

Bitty shrugs. “It’s the one I always use. Don’t they have Sara Lee in Canada?”

“No, I... that’s the bread my friend used to use.”

“Well I can tell you from personal experience that this is the bread of champions,” he smiles fondly. His eyes are half lidded and sad. Lost in something he can no longer find, Jack surmises.

Jack snorts mirthlessly, thinking of the Memorial Cup and Kent’s two Cup wins. “You could say that.”

Bitty plops the plate on the table unceremoniously.

“I, uh, actually eat my sandwich at the rink.”

“Oh,” Bitty blushes. This is probably the first time he’s been wrong about Jack. “Let me get some parchment paper.”

“Thanks, Bittle,” Jack leaves immediately. Using the back door, he decides to go around front to walk to Faber. He passes the kitchen window unnoticed.

However, that doesn’t stop him from overhearing Shitty saying, “Chyeah brah, he was legendary. In fact, the only person who was as good as him that year was his line mate…”

And Bitty’s monosyllabic response “shit.”  

Jack replays it in his head after the game as well as for the next week. He doesn’t believe in destiny per say. But he begins to wonder if it’s not mere coincidence that Eric Bittle is eerily familiar to him. His suspicions are all but confirmed at the Yale game.  Bittle scores the winning goal.

Typical.

Jack supposes that working with Eric on Sunday mornings has paid off. It reminds him of how good he was as a coach. How he could always go into coaching if he’s deemed “too washed up” for the NHL. It feels like he’s fighting for attention against Kenny all over again. He wonders if the last few months before the draft were when they truly fell apart. Because Jack kept pushing Kent away and Kent didn’t know whether to push back or how hard. He should have.

“Dicky, you were so great! Kenny would be so proud.” He overhears a woman say, presumably Mrs. Bittle, as he and Papa approach. The name Kenny makes his stomach do backflips.

“I’m sure,” Eric snorts. “I should really go shower, Mama.”

“Oh, before you go,” the short woman comes into sight. (Bittle too, he’s clearly inching for the locker room.) “Lemme take one more picture.”

“Would you like one of us to take it for you?” Papa offers. (Jack really wishes he wouldn’t.) “Though you might want Jack. He’s always been a better shot than me.”

“Dad, this is Eric Bittle and his mom,” he introduces as politely as possible. “Bittle’s the one I told you about—the figure skater.”

“Nice to meet you Mister Bad B-ah. U-um. Mister Jack’s Dad.” Bittle trips over his words, it almost makes Jack laugh. It’s endearing.

“Hah! Please, call me Bob.” Papa assures him. “I gotta say, I was a bit worried when I saw you come out on the ice. But I guess big surprises really do come in small packages. That was a clutch shot, son.”

“Wow, um, thank you sir,” the blond gushes. “I still can’t believe it happened. And to be honest, I’m always so scared out there—I practically took the shot with my eyes closed.”

“A good bounce is a good bounce.” Papa claps him on the back, “though I know Jack here probably wanted to make that game winner himself. Huh?”

Jack freezes, embarrassed of being put on the spot.

“And you must be very proud of your son, Mrs. Bittle,” Papa continues.

“Suzanne,” she clarifies. “So proud. But that’s what you get when an NHL star teaches your son to skate.”

“Mama,” Bittle grumbles. “I’m sure they don’t wanna hear about _him_.”

“Bitty, I’m making polite conversation. Besides, they might know Kenny.”

“Kenny?” Jack croaks.

“Oh goodness, sorry most folks call him Kent Parson,” she prattles on. “He’ll always be Kenny to us. He was a neighbor boy back in Georgia. He and Eric were tighter than a minister’s wife’s girdle at an all you can eat buffet. Haven’t seen much of him in an awful while, though. The Vegas heat must’ve gotten to him.”

“You don’t say,” Papa grins, his eye shinning a little brighter. “Well he and Jack used to play in juniors. They were good friends, can’t say I’ve heard from him in a while either. Jack?”

This is exactly what Jack was afraid of. “…he wished me a happy birthday.”

“That’s our Kenny,” Suzanne winks. “Considerate. It took me a damn near a month to talk him out of buying us a house.”

“What?” Bittle sputters. “When was this?”

“A few years back, sweetheart. Oh, but now’s no time to talk about that.” She pats his shoulder just as a phone rings.  She checks the caller ID. “Speak of the devil. Sorry, I gotta take this. Well, it was a pleasure meeting y’all. Dicky, go shower up.”

Papa chuckles, “the pleasure was ours.” As Jack and his father walk away, Papa speaks up.  “You didn’t tell me he was friends with Kent.”

“I didn’t know,” he admits softly.

“…you know I’m always here for you, son. If you ever need to talk.”

“I know,” he admits because he does. Years of therapy and improved communication had made that apparent. “I appreciate it.”

After he’s showered, Papa texts him about going out for dinner. Jack heads to the car. He hears Bittle calling him from behind.

“Hey I just wanted to say good game and thanks f—”

“How long?” He interrupts. He _has_ to know, maybe he doesn’t deserve to know. But that doesn’t stop him from asking anyway.

Indecisiveness flickers across Bitty’s face. He sighs, refusing to play dumb. “…a few weeks. It was more of a hunch than anything.”

“Do you know what happened?” _With the draft? The overdose? With Kent?_

“I don’t have the slightest clue. But…” he takes a deep breath. “I’d like to be your friend. If that’s what you need.”

Jack thinks that’s what he needs right now. Someone who knows where he’s come from and where he’s going. He thought that person was Kent. Maybe it always will be, but he’s not ready to deal with that. So he does what he does best—push people away. “Bittle…it was a lucky shot.”

He starts walking away when he hears Eric mutter “bless your heart.” Jack might not know a lot, but he can hear sarcasm from a mile away. The sadness that drips down alongside it is confusing, and infuriating. Just like Bittle…and Kenny.

He falls asleep that night, dreaming of blond hair, freckles, sunshine, and southern accents so soft that if you weren’t paying attention you’d miss them. When he wakes, Jack honestly can’t recall which blond he was dreaming of. Or even if he was even happy there. Just perfect.  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title - Last Hope by Paramore


	4. Surrender

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Christ, Dicky, I miss you.”  
> “You coulda fooled me Kent Virgil."

Mama’s still on the phone when Bitty comes back in. He can’t shake the feeling of sorrow at seeing Jack so defeated. He feels like whatever happened runs much deeper than having Kent Parson as a scorned lover.  Bitty remembers the day he figured out Jack was Kent’s Jack from the Q.

It was odd to think of Kenny in the past tense, but true nonetheless. He hadn’t seen Kent in years. He didn’t know what man he’d grown up to be beyond his NHL stats and a few poorly written tabloids.  Kenny used to be a huge part of his life, and now—nothing. It wasn’t until the first game of the SMH season that Kent came up…directly at least.  Jack had him make a second pb&j to prove it was really a part of Bitty’s ritual. He’d bolted out of the kitchen in a hurry, practically running Shitty over.

Shitty comes as he storms off. “What’s up with Jack?”

Bitty shrugs. “I don’t have the slightest clue. One minute I’m making my pb&j, the next he’s accusing me of copying his pregame ritual. Then I’m making him my sandwich. I’m still confused.”

“Brah, no worries. He probably thought you were a super fan or something.”

“What? Of his dad?” He’d heard of Bad Bob just recently.

“No, like of him,” Shitty turns an empty chair and plops down on it. “You know he played hockey before Samwell, right?”

“I guess I assumed…”

“Yea dude was up for top draft pick in ’09.”

Questions were still whirring in his head. “What happened?”

Shitty flinches.

Bitty wanted to slap himself for asking. Clearly it was bad for him not to be playing professional hockey all these years later. It almost reminds him of that boy that Kent was competing with for top draft p—

“On second thought, don’t tell me.” Bitty scrubs his face. “Just...did he play in the Quebec Major Junior Hockey League by any chance?”

“Chyeah brah, he was legendary. In fact, the only person who was as good as him that year was his line mate…”

_My buddy Jack and I go all the time_

“Fuck,” Eric curses under his breath. His mind goes into overdrive.

_His dad’s retired but he used to be the best goddamn player in the NHL._

“What?”

_I think you’d like Jack. He’s amazing._

“Nothing…I…it’s nothing,”

“If you say so,” the best part about Shitty is that he never judged, and he came to the rescue whenever someone wanted it.

Back in the present, Bitty’s showered and trying to get his mother’s attention.

“Lord you picked some time to call,” Mama’s sigh pulled him out of his musings “No, honey, I’m not mad. Just sad you didn’t come to me sooner.”

“Mama,” he whines.

“Hush, Dicky. Yea he’s here. Well I’ll ask,” Suzanne puts a hand over the phone. “Dicky, Kenny’s on the phone. Do you wanna talk to him?”

He nods dumbly, Mama passes him the phone. “Hello?”

“Heard you scored the winning goal against Yale,” a sad chuckle fills his ears. “College boy might have to show me a thing or two next time I see him.”

“Oh? You’re gonna see me, huh?” Bitty caustically retorts.

“If you want. I…Christ, Dicky, I miss you.”

“You coulda fooled me Kent Virgil,” he’s no longer annoyed, just sad.

“Ouch middle named. I suppose I earned that.” Eric hears Kent sigh. “Look, I got a lot to answer for. But I do miss you. If you’ll let me make up for all the radio silence?”

“Mama invite you for the holidays yet?”

“Who do you think I am Eric Richard Bittle?” Suzanne pokes his arms harshly. “Of course, I invited him for Christmas.”

“That she did,” Kent agrees.  “I forgot how hard it is to say no to Mama.”

“You’re making it hard not to chirp you.” Bitty suppresses a smile, poorly.

Kent chuckles in earnest. “I know. I’ll see you in a few weeks alright?”

“…I’ll have Mama text you my cell. Don’t treat me like a stranger.”

“Cross my heart,” he can imagine Kent making the motion as he speaks. It’s not enough.

“Don’t,” his breath hitches, “make promises you can’t keep.”

Kent swallows loudly. “Understood,” his tone is restrained and somber.

“I’ll pass you back to her now ok?”

“Ok.”

“Take care of yourself, Kenny.” Bitty smiles weakly for both their sakes.

“You too Dicky.”

Mama whispers something to Kenny before hanging up.

“What did he want?” Bitty fails at appearing aloof.

“Kenny’s a little lost right now,” Mama squeezes his shoulder for comfort. “He wanted to know if it’s alright to come home.”

Eric wrings his hands uncomfortably. “Lost?”

Mama shakes her head, tutting. “He’s thinking about quitting the league.”

“What?!” Bitty gapes. “He can’t quit, he’s the best player they’ve got.”

“Don’t I know it,” Suzanne laughs. “But that’s why he called. He sounds awful lonely, Dicky.”

“Guess you were right to invite him over,” Bitty mutters.

“Well you got your big heart from somewhere,” she winks.

Bitty knows she’s right. On an objective level, it all makes sense. Kent needs help, the Bittles love Kent; therefore, the Bittles should help Kenny. Kent was so important to Bitty and he can’t imagine who he’d be without Kent nudging him along as much as he did.

An incongruous feeling settles in his stomach all the same. Some mangled version of fear with excitement. Eric doesn’t know if he’s more frightened by the idea that he could have Kenny back or that all he’ll see is the former husk of his friend. He doesn’t know what he’ll do in either case. Just as well, Bitty has time to prepare. It’s two months until winter break. Eight weeks until he sees Kenny for the first time in years. Is he ready for that?

Kenny texts him the next day

Unknown: Mornin’ sunshine

Dicky: I’m gonna take a wild guess by the Vegas area code and say you’re more reliable than I expected.

Kenny: Can’t let you down twice in one week, can I?

Dicky: What was the first time?

Kenny: Missing your game. I had time to fly out too.

Dicky: …

Dicky: Maybe it’s for the best you didn’t come.

Kenny: ?

Dicky: Did mama tell you where I’m going to school?

Kenny: No

Dicky: Samwell

Kenny: Fuck

Dicky: Mind telling me what happened with Jack?

Kenny: …

Dicky: Maybe some other time

Kenny: What did he tell you?

Dicky: Nothing, yet

Kenny: Well this devolved quickly. Shit, I’m sorry. I suck at this

Dicky: You wanna be my friend again?

Kenny: Of course

Dicky: Earn my trust back.

Kenny: How the fuck do I that

Dicky: Just…sit tight until we can talk in person. ‘Til then, act like we’re kids again and you just forgot to call me last week.

Kenny: Ok

Moments later his phone rings. This startles Bitty so much that he drops it and scrambles to answer.

“Hello?”  Bitty’s thankful no one else is in the Haus right now.

“Hey, it’s Kenny,” the man’s voice floats like a perfect tune.

“I know,” Eric deadpans.  “What’s up?”

“I figured a call was better than an apology text,” Kent elaborates.

“For what?”

“Forgetting to call you last week,” Bitty can make out the mischief in his voice. “I was on a roadie and I got my time zones all fucked up.”

“Oh,” Eric hadn’t been expecting a real apology. “Well that’s fine.  I understand.”

“I beat the Sharks for you,” Kent continues.

“Really? All by yourself,” Bitty snorts as the timer for the oven dings.

“Well maybe Troy had an assist or two...”

“Oh? And how’s he doin’? Last I heard he’s well on his way to replacing me. Is it because he’s tall?” Bitty chirps.

“No one could replace you, Dicky.” Kent’s voice is as insistent as it is serious.

“Bitty,” Eric corrects lightly. “I, uh, they call me Bitty up here.”

“No shit,” Kent clicks his tongue. “I like it. Itty Bitty Bittle.”

Just like Kent to make Bitty regret decisions immediately. “I will revoke your nickname privileges if you call me that again.”

“Is Bits off limits?”

“No…” the younger responds cautiously, he sets the muffin tray down to cool.

“Good," Kent hangs on the word as he improvises his next line. “Like I was saying, Troy is good. He was thinking about proposing to his girlfriend if we win the Cup this year.”

“That’s a lot of pressure to put on one person,” Bitty claps a hand over his mouth. “Saying yes in front of all those people,” he remedies.

“She likes the attention,” Kent assures him. “She has to with a boyfriend like him.”

“I can only imagine how she puts up with you.”

“Maybe I bribe her with the occasional chocolate pecan chess pie.”

“No,” Bitty gasps dramatically.  “MooMaw’s recipe?”

“The one and only,” Kent says confidentially. “Though it’s probably the only recipe I don’t burn on first try.”

Bitty giggles.

“It’s good to hear you laugh again,” Kenny admits softly.

“It’s good to have something to laugh about.”

They text daily. Bitty follows him on Twitter and Kenny follows him back. They add each other on snapchat. Kent mainly spams him with pictures of Kit while Bitty snaps shenanigans from SMH and any baked goods. Kent sends him an Aces cap and some of the hurt melts away. Because Bitty realizes more and more that Kenny thought he was fighting the good fight to keep everyone happy; not keeping them at arms’ length. Jack sees him wearing the cap three days later and drags Bitty up to his room.

“What the fuck is your problem?” Bitty demands as quiet as he can muster.  The last thing they need is half the team as an audience.

“I should be asking you that,” Jack paces angrily. “You think you’re funny, eh?”

“Not particularly,” Bitty sneers at him for the first time in months. “Now why’d you drag me up here?”

“Just do us both a favor and stop playing dumb, Bittle,” he crosses his arms accusingly.

“Fine, this is a gift.” Each word is dripped condescendingly from Eric’s mouth. “I’m not trying to make you feel uncomfortable. And I’m sorry that I made you feel bad. That wasn’t my intention. Honestly, I thought I wouldn’t be seeing you until tomorrow.”

Jack’s eyes soften “it’s…it’s not alright but I get it. I’m sorry too. I should stop...associating you with him.”

“Tell me what happened.” It isn’t a command, but an offer.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Now who’s playing dumb,” Bitty laughs morosely.  “Look, it’s probably not my place to say anything but I’m gonna let you in on a little secret. Whatever happened, you deserve some peace. And I know from personal experience that just because you wanted something doesn’t mean it was right for you.”

“I-how…ugh, what do you think we’re talking about?”

“A lot of things, actually,” Bitty tips his cap. “Your relationship was just one of them.”

“How—”

“Last time I saw him he’d come home from his first season in the Q. He talked about you like the sun shined out of your ass and you could do no wrong.”

“I bet,” Jack rolls his eyes.

“He loved you,” Bitty persists. He’s…upset, but even he isn’t sure about what. He could be jealous of Jack for all he knows at this point. Or rather, his younger self would’ve been jealous of Kent’s love for Jack.

“I can’t talk about this,” Jack exhales loudly.

“I’m not asking you to,” Eric placates him. “I’m telling you I’m here if you need me.” 

Jack scrutinizes him for a bit; clearly deliberating whether Bitty’s worth trusting. “Thanks,” he says finally. “You won’t tell anyone about this right?”

“Do you think I’d go around bragging ‘hey everyone, I had a childhood crush on Kent freaking Parson and then he left for Canada to play hockey and date Jack’?”

Jack blushes, “point taken.”

“Can I ask you something?” Bitty examines him wearily.

“Depends,” Jack offers.

“Did you love him back?”

Silence ensues and Eric immediately back tracks. “I’m sorry I’ll ju—”

“A part of me did—probably always will.”

Bitty nods and leaves. He takes his Aces hat off before quietly slipping out of the room. Jack and Bitty dance around the issue. Jack continues to ignore the implications of their conversation. Meanwhile Bitty continues to make him pb&j sandwiches a few times a week and daily during finals. The first day of finals, Bitty pulls out a new jam flavor.

“Kiwi?” If Jack were more expressive, Bitty would think he was horrified.

They’re studying at the kitchen table, books pilled as tall as Bitty. A pie’s already cooling on the kitchen island. Lardo and Shitty are vegging on biohazard couch. Bitty can make out Lardo mumbling something about ‘fucking write ups’ while Shitty hums under his breath.

“He’s allergic,” Eric explains flatly. “I used to make kiwi lime pie whenever I was cross with him.”

Jack laughs. The sound is pleasant. “You? Mad at someone?”

“One time he punched a bully from school. I couldn’t walk the halls for a month without weary eyes wandering after me. He was always pulling shit like that; deciding what’s best for everyone.”

“Oh,” Jack replies lamely.

“Did you think I knew him for over a decade and never had a bad thought about him?” Bitty snorts in disbelief. “I know what he’s capable of. He means well but that boy is dangerous when he thinks with his heart instead of his head.”

Jack looks like he wants to say something, but falters.

Bitty thinks he wants to ask about the last summer he saw Kenny or what he thinks of Kenny now that he’s met Jack. Instead, he asks “can you tell me a good story?”

“I hated thunderstorms,” Eric preambles. He furiously scratches something off a note card. “They made me sweat more than a sinner in church. Kenny used to come over every afternoon. But on days when the weatherman said it would rain he insisted on staying until it passed. And I loved _The_ _Lion King_. So he taught me to think of thunder as lions roaring. We would roar for hours, playing lion and the floor is lava at the same time. Kenny never judged me, he just loved.”

“You called him Kenny?” Jack’s face is twisted into something like awe.

Eric nods, smiling. “Everyone in town did, he hated it.”

“Huh,” Jack slumps back in his seat. The conversation is soon lost to the monotonous hum of the Haus.

Jack created this weird twilight zone for Bitty. One where he wasn’t sure how he felt about anything anymore. Jack made him acknowledge that his former idol wasn’t perfect. That Kent was a relic of a naïve childhood. One where there would always be someone to protect him from bigotry and violence. One where skating was just as easy as breathing.

But this Kent—the one that he tweeted good luck before games and sent him Taylor Swift lyrics unironically—never pretended to be. He was a humble man with a gentle voice. He still spoke before he thought, but his words were mostly gentle and honest.

“That was a beautiful hat trick you pulled tonight,” Bitty tells him over Skype on night.

“Yea?” Kent’s eyes light up. “You saw that?”

“Of course, I’ve never missed a single game of yours,” a tinge of pink creeps onto his face.

Kent for his part, looks astonished. “Seriously? Why?”

“I never stopped caring about you. And watching your cellys were the best part of my day,” Bitty admits.

“And now?”

“Well I got my own cellys now don’t I?” He reasons.

Kent nods hesitantly, biting his lip. “You never told me why you stopped figure skating.”

“I still practice by myself. Just got too expensive for Coach and Mama to afford,” Bitty explains.

“Right…” Kent averts his gaze.

“What?”

“Nothing, I…nothing.”

“Kenny…” Bitty insists.

He caves easily. “I offered to cover your expenses. When you were in high school.”

“You what?” Eric gawks at him.

“Yea,” Kent treats it like nothing, typical. “but Mama said they had it covered.” Just then Kent’s cat (who in their right mind names their cat after themselves?) jumps onto his desk.

“Because I quit,” Bitty snaps.  “I quit because I didn’t want them scrounging for money after that flub at the Southern Junior Regionals”

“Guess I offered too late,” Kent hides his face under Kit’s fur.

“I don’t know if I would’ve accepted,” Bitty tells him honestly.

“Offer still stands,” Kent runs a hand through his messy locks. “I never want you to give up on your dreams.”

“You’re sweeter than honey,” Bitty frowns. “But what about hockey? Ain’t that your dream?”

“Mama told you, huh?”

“Uh huh,” his tone is light, but firm.

“Can we talk about this later? My contract isn’t up until after next season anyway,” Kent argues.

Bitty debates mentally for a bit. Ultimately, he relents. “You’re not getting out of this conversation Kent Virgil Parson.”

Kent’s smile slows the whole world down, “understood.”

Kenny doesn’t mention Jack much. He’s more mature than he once had been, and seemed to know that Jack wouldn’t want him spreading stories to people; least of all to Bitty. When he did, however, it caused Bitty to try to rearrange the scraps in his mind like pieces of a puzzle. Trying desperately to reconcile Captain Zimmerman with Zimms and Bitty’s new friend Jack.  Jack’s anxiety aside, he was a lot better at communicating than he used to be. Which surprised Eric a bit. He didn’t smile nearly as much as Kenny described, but he was more thoughtful and caring. Checking practice had even gotten easier, because the two men were supplementing each other constantly.

“I swear I’m less likely to faint if I’m near a goal than at center ice” Bitty confesses to Jack one day at practice.

“You’re focusing too much on control. You can’t control the situation, but you can control your actions,” Jack contends.

“Yeah?”

Jack nods, smiling as he only does when hockey’s involved. “Focus on managing your anxiety. Try breathing in and out for seven seconds each.”

When that proves only half-successful, Eric turns to Kent.

“He’s not wrong,” Kenny admits. “But everyone has different coping mechanisms for attacks, panic or anxiety or otherwise. There’s nothing wrong with experimenting until you figure out a good strategy.”

“Ok…” Bitty’s never been one for decorum around Kent, “that’s vague and slightly helpful.”

“Here’s what I do,” Kent leans closer to the camera as if to fill the gap between them. “May 5th, July 4th, August 3rd.”

“What?” Bitty balks at him.

“I say those dates on repeat, and think about what they mean to me.” Kent rambles on, “good memories and shit. Sometimes all I can remember is what shirt I wore that time last year. It’s about focusing on something to ground you in the here and now.”

“What’s August 3rd,” Bitty asks as if he couldn’t see the common thread.

Kent blushes, ignoring the question almost entirely. “The key is consistency, and finding something that interests you. Fuck, it could be Civil War battles in alphabetical order if that’s what clears your mind.”

The last checking practice of the semester, Bitty finds himself reciting the steps to making a kiwi lime pie internally. It takes his mind off Jack charging long enough to stand the soft impact against the glass. Bitty’s still standing, and breathing somewhat normally. They run it again another dozen times. Bitty getting more comfortable with each attempt.

“That was impressive,” Jack pants as he catches his breath. “What changed?”

“I was thinking about baking,” Bitty shrugs. “It helped.”

“Good going, Bits,” Jack claps his back.

“Thanks,” Bitty feels his own pride swelling. They skate to the rink door together.

Bitty’s unlacing his skates when Jack breaks their comfortable silence “you’re not gonna regress over break, eh?”

“I think I can bribe a few people in checking practice,” Bitty informs him matter-of-factly.

Jack smirks like they’re old friends with a secret, “only you, Bits.”

Bitty preens. He’s then reminded of one of something important and reaches into his bag. “Now I’m not a fan of interfering in the affairs of others.”

“Ok…” Jack prompts him.

“But we may or may not have compared notes,” he hands Jack two perfectly wrapped Christmas presents.

“We?” Jack’s confused smirk makes Bitty feel guilty.

“…Kenny and I have been reconnecting a bit,” Eric blurts out.

“What? Why?” Jack hisses.

“Well…he wants to retire after next season for one,” Bitty explains calmly. “And I think he just about gave Mama a heart attack a few weeks ago. Calling out of the blue like he was dying.”

“But he’s…ok? Fuck, why…fuck I thought…” Jack sputters.

“What he was fine? He suddenly stopped being as stubborn and self-loathing as a mule?”

The older’s shoulders slump, “something like that.”

“If it’s any consolation, you can pretend they’re both from me,” Bitty offers. “He doesn’t mind.”

Jack shakes his head, accepting the presents anyway. “That’s not comforting.”

Bitty shrugs, “then tell him you never want to speak to him again.”

His bluntness causes Jack to freeze.

“Jack,” Bitty sighs as he hoists his gym bag over his shoulder.  “I said you need peace. So does he. You don’t owe him an explanation, but maybe you owe yourself closure. If that’s really what you want from him.”

Jack remains silent; his face is unreadable. It’s frustrating for Bitty but he understands. “Have a good break, I suppose.”

Jack reaches out, grabs Bitty’s arm and pulls him in for a hug. He trembles as he holds the younger man fiercely. Bitty is temporarily shocked, and then hugs him back just as hard.

“I don’t hate him,” Jack asserts.

“No, but you associate him with a dark time in your life.” Bitty slumps against him, then he adds. “It’s ok to grieve.”

Jack puts some space between them. “Grieve what?”

“The loss of innocence, I guess. Or maybe your first love,” Bitty speculates.  

Jack scoffs, “hockey or Kenny?”

“Both,” Eric leads him out of Faber.

“Bits?”

“Hmm?”

“Thanks…you’re a good friend. I…we don’t deserve you.”

“Don’t be stupid, Jack Laurent.” Bitty smacks him lightly. “Y’all would be just fine on your own. Eventually.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title - Surrender by Ball Park Music 
> 
> *Swoops isn't Swoops. Ngozi has stated his name is officially Troy. This fic has now been updated to reflect that.*


	5. All We Know

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> All he knows is that on the other side of the continent is Bitty and Parse, together. For some reason, that doesn’t seem bad anymore. 
> 
> Warning: Brief homophobic language (I use it sparingly but it's there)

The Aces beat the Hurricanes 3-1. Kent, for once, doesn’t let his nerves affect his game. He’s still high on adrenaline well into the night. He hardly sleeps before the concierge calls him at four in the morning saying his cab has arrived. Jeff, in a drowsy haze, throws a pillow at the phone as Kent hangs up.

“I warned ‘ya,” Kent chuckles softly.

Troy for his part, flips him off before rolling away from him.

Kent considers putting on a suit. Then disregards the idea, he can’t imagine any member of the Bittle family resisting the opportunity to chirp his custom Armani. He slips into jeans and throws an Aces sweatshirt over his shirt.

“Merry Christmas, ya filthy animal.”

Troy mutters something incoherent in reply, Kent takes it as his cue to leave.  It’s an hour and a half flight to Atlanta. Really, he could’ve driven down last night if Mama hadn’t been so insistent on him getting some sleep. Some being the operative word.

He hasn’t seen the Bittles in the better part of a decade. Honestly, he hasn’t…done holidays in a few years. His mom and stepdad were traveling whenever they got time off of work and Dad had remarried the year before. They were all out doing cool things with their lives, and Kent was happy for them. Really.  Kent sighs. New house, new town, new year, and same old Bittles…maybe. He has no clue how to operate normally under these circumstances.

Atlanta is one of his favorite airports. He’s made it a point to have opinions on airports since he spends half the season on the road. Atlanta is large enough, and packed full of enough random shops and food places, that he wouldn’t mind spending a week trapped here. Unfortunately, it’s six in the morning and he’s dead on his feet. He gets lost a few times using those conveyor belts that are supposed to make walking faster. He just about gives up and calls Dicky when he sees a sign for the parking garage. He heads in the right direction as his phone rings anyway.

“Where on God’s green earth are you?”

“On my way, I forgot how fucking huge this airport is,” Kent groans, yanking his luggage when the wheels begin to stick.  

“Are you wearing you glasses,” Bitty tsks.

“Uh…”

“Lord, what am I going to do with you Kent Parson?”

Kent fights a yawn, “buy me coffee for one.”

Eric hums, “alright, just hurry your butt out here. I don’t wanna pay an extra hour for parking.”

“Sure thing,” Kent hums. “What am I looking for?”

“Coach’s pickup.”

“No way,” Kent scoffs. “He kept that old jalopy?”

“No, I kept that old jalopy. And I’ll thank you to not insult her,” Bitty warns.

“Wouldn’t dream of it. Jalopies have character. See you in a minute, alright?”

“I’ll hold you to that minute,” he quips.

“Cross my heart,” Kenny promises.

Dicky hangs up. But it doesn’t bother Kent, he has about a million promises to make up for the first one he blew. He’s crossing the threshold out to the temporary parking lot when he spots coach’s old pickup, blue as the sky. Leaning against the passenger side is short blond staring tensely at his phone. His hair is just as shaggy as the last time he saw him. Christ, Kent thinks to himself, it’s like time has stood still for them. ‘Cept for Kent’s got a few inches on him and his face isn’t as round as it was at twelve. And the way he stands doesn’t look like an awkward preteen. Damn that glow up. Kent was already worried about keeping his cool around sarcastic Dicky. He hadn’t stopped to consider what Dicky would be like…now.

“Thirty…twenty-nine…twenty-eight…twenty-seven…” he hears Eric say as he approaches.

“Are you timing me?”

“Maybe if y’all were here a half an hour ago, I wouldn’t—” Dicky looks up and all the anger etched into his brow slips off. His warm brown eyes are soft and shocked. As if he weren’t expecting Kent to show up.

Kent treads carefully, getting less than a foot from Dicky. He feels like his heart is going to bust out of his chest. He awkwardly extends his hand to Eric. Hand shake, that’s appropriate, right? It’s not like he saying ‘it was weird to have a crush on a twelve-year-old but you were my best friend and now you’re nineteen but still young and fuck.’  

Dicky must’ve seen the panic in his eyes because he gently slaps Kent’s hand out of the way. Going for a bone crushing hug instead. Although stunned, Kent’s a hugger and remembers to hug back. Eric’s not much shorter than him, Kent realizes as he rests his nose on the other’s bushy head.

“I made it” Kent murmurs.

Bitty snorts. “Three years too late.”

Kent hugs him tighter “sorry to keep you waiting.”

“…it’s fine,” he sputters.  

“Don’t say that,” the older tells him disapprovingly.

“Well c’mon, let’s go home,” Eric motions to the passenger’s seat.

Kent perks up. _Home_ , there’s a thought.

The ride over is quiet until Kent asked to change the station.

“What do y’all have against Sia?” Eric gripes.

“The song’s ok, I guess,” Kent shrugs.

“I won’t throttle your blasphemous tongue because it’s Christmas,” he chirps.

“Hey,” Kenny protests. “You act like I have a bad taste in music.”

Bitty rolls his eyes. “You’re the only person I know who can love Katy Perry and Taylor Swift without imploding on yourself.”

“I keep my music tastes out of my celebrity life,” he sticks his tongue out to Dicky.

“…You’re allowed dinner with one of them, but only one. Who do you choose?”

“Pfft, and I’m the blasphemous one?” Kent drums his fingers against the console, deliberating. “Katy.”

“Really?”

“She got me through a shitty year,” he says cryptically.

Bitty takes a deep breath. Kent can hear his gears grinding away with some intervention speech. “Wanna talk about it?”

Kent eyes him skeptically. Meanwhile, Bitty’s attention is firmly fixed on the road. It may not snow in Georgia but it was raining quite a bit this morning.

“Do I have to be specific?”

“Not at all,” Bitty placates.  

“I’m two years sober?”

Eric practically slams the breaks on a yellow light. He faces Kent with bulging eyes.  “…How the fuck did you get a Calder and a Stanley Cup in the same year?”

“Same way I won the Memorial Cup, carefully.” What’s the use of sugarcoating it? “And fucked out of my mind a lot.”

Bitty shakes his head, “that doesn’t sound careful. That sounds like stupidity spun as cleverness.”

“Well…you got me. Kent Parson, recovering alcoholic, destroyer of lives.” He jokes, but then again, the laugh that ensues sounds hollow to even him.

Bitty glances over at him. Kent’s hazy grey eyes half-lidded, not even his cap can hide the disarray of his hair (and heart). Bitty takes his left hand, rubbing soothing circles into his knuckles.  “Nah that sounds like my friend Kenny. Looks before he leaps and loves until he bleeds.”  

Kent laughs weakly. “You still friends with that asshole? I thought he like peaked at 18 and never called. Fuck that guy.”

“Mr. Parson,” Eric quirks a brow. “If there’s one thing we don’t do in the Bittle house, it’s quit on people we care about. Sure, Kenny might be a little roughed up now, but I remember a time when he would’ve slayed a mob for me.”

“Always,” Kent swears, squeezing Bitty’s hand in return.

Eric smiles back at him. “Besides, he’s helping cook Christmas dinner and there’s no way he’s wiggling out of that.”

Kent pales, “don’t tell me—”

“It’s our turn to host Christmas dinner,” his lips curl into a devilish grin. “You’d known that if you’d been keeping tabs.”

“Cousin Luanne isn’t coming, is she?” Kent whines.

“Yep,” Bitty pops the p for emphasis.

“Fuck,” Kent slumps against the window.  

“She’s engaged,” he sing-songs.

Kent sighs in relief, “it’s a Christmas miracle.”

“But _Jenny_ just got out of a two-year relationship.”

Kent narrows his gaze. “You’re bluffing.”

The grin Bitty gives him is perfectly sincere and completely unapologetic.

“Oh, and Michele’s been talking a storm up about getting in your good graces.”

Kent purses his lips. “…I should’ve come with a fake girlfriend.”

“Oh, come now, what fun would that have been?”

Pull up to the house after another ten minutes of comfortable silence. Unlike the old digs, this house was backed up to a wooded area. The front porch stretched the entire length of the house, and it even had a white picket fence.

“Well come on then,” Bitty pushes him along. “Y’all didn’t have to live here when it was as white as this neighborhood.”

Kenny laughs a little harder then he thinks he’s supposed to. Bitty unlocks the door; Kent’s palms are sweaty and disgusting. He tries to calm himself. It’s just the Bittles right?

A gentle “hey,” snaps Kent out of his musings. He looks up.

Bitty’s smiling encouragingly. “May 5th”

“July 4th, August 3rd,” Kent grimaces. “Ok let’s do this.”

Bitty pushes the door open. “We’re home!”

“In the kitchen!” Mama shouts back.

He follows Bitty closely to kitchen. The hallway is open, a beautiful slate grey. Pictures, awards, and art take up every free inch above the side tables. The kitchen is huge; black granite countertops, white cabinets, a large island, and there’s still room for a reading bench overlooking the back yard. This looks like everything Mama and Bitty had ever wanted in a home.  Mama’s flipping pancakes at the stove, the heat sizzles softly as she goes. Coach’s reading a paper. MooMaw’s in the adjacent living room with a football game playing as she balances a laptop on her taupe arm chair. She’s sixty three and still looking livlier than most people half her age. It’s like time stopped to welcome him back. Mama looks over her shoulder, grinning from ear to ear. Kenny doesn’t feel a day over twelve.

Mama piles a pancake onto the stack plate. She drops her spatula on a dime, rushing to hug Kent, who drops his duffle bag in anticipation of catching her. He didn’t remember her being this small. He clings a little tighter, inhaling her perfume. It’s the lilac scent he bought her when he was fourteen and too broke and young to know better.

“How you holdin’ up darling?” She reaches up to kiss his temple.

“I’m better now,” and it’s true.  “Thanks Mama.”

“Anything for you sweet pea,” Suzanne backs up to survey him. She smooths out his cowlick as best as possible then points with the spatula.

“Kent Virgil Parson,” MooMaw looks over her seat, eyeing him expectantly. “Do you expect an old woman to come wait on you hand and foot?”

He rolls his eyes, grinning, “‘course not, MooMaw.” He just about runs to her, burying his head in her shoulder.  Both of Kent’s maternal grandparents were dead, and his father’s parents hadn’t spoken to them in ten years. MooMaw was all he had.  He’d forgotten what a family could feel like. For so long, they’d been a concept; a thought more akin to ‘it would be nice to know them again’ than ‘I miss being able to come home’. Because that’s what the Bittles were to him, home.

“There, there, baby,” MooMaw coos. Kent hadn’t realized his was shaking. “You’re home now, that’s what matters.”

“I hope you’re hungry. We have enough to feed a small army,” Mama lightens the mood.

“Or a professional hockey player,” Coach chuckles.

Kent approaches the nook table somberly, extending a hand out. “Thanks again for inviting me, sir. Really means a lot.”

Coach frowns, standing up, accepts hand but pulls Kent in. “None of that sir business, son.”

“Yes Coach,” he hugs the man tighter. Kent clears throat in discomfort, “thanks Coach.”

“It’s good to have you here,” Coach sits back down. “Though you have a lot to answer for. Starting with, what was that miserable power play I saw last night?”

“We had two minutes to spare, it was three days before Christmas, my boys were tired,” Kent explains with his press voice.

Coach tuts in disapproval. “That’s no excuse for sloppy play. You’re doing drills for an hour today.”

“Guess it’s business as usual,” Kent groans.

Bitty snorts absently, skimming through Twitter while he eats breakfast next to his father.

Coach frowns. “Dicky weren’t you saying you needed to practice checking?”

“Yes sir,” he grouses.

“Kenny can help you out after he’s done then.”

“Yes sir,” they both say begrudgingly.

_/.\\_

Jack gets the strangest text from Bittle.

Bitty: My father is a tyrant

Jack: Why?

Bitty: He's making Kenny do suicides for letting Carolina get a point last night

Jack: Seriously?

Bitty: Coach doesn’t take these things lightly

Jack: And Kent’s ok with that

Bitty: He probably respects Coach more than his own daddy. It’s fine, it’s how their relationship works.

Jack rubs his temple. It’s gotten easier to talk about Kent. His therapist helped him conclude that they weren’t the same people that hurt each other when they were younger. And that it wasn’t that they themselves that had been toxic, but the way they tried to avoid confrontation and proper communication. It hurt a little less every time Bittle mentioned Kenny. It seemed to be a given at this point. Their stories were tied, and it was ok to associate one with the other. He knew that Bitty was a good friend to Kent; just as Kenny had been there for Eric in the past.

Still, it ached to think that a part of his past and present could operate without him. He tried not to let it bother him.

Bitty: Is it ok if Kent helps me with checking?

Jack blanches, he hadn’t thought they’d want to practice during Christmas. He had to remind himself to not feel disposable. 

Jack: Sure

Bitty: If it’s a problem, just let me know. Coach volunteered to last week but he wanted Kenny on ice anyway. And it’d only be for a few days until he leaves for Vegas…

Jack chuckles, Bittle is polite as he is stubborn.

Jack: No really. Give him hell for me, eh?

Bitty: On the ice, right?

Bitty: Because you’re more than welcome to give him an earful any time you’d like.

Bitty: He says you have his permission

Jack: Ok

Bitty: Oh, and he’s not reading over my shoulder. He thinks that’s important to mention.

Jack: I understand

Bitty: And if the idea of Christmas presents makes you uncomfortable, you can open them whenever you want

Bitty: Lord he has a motor-mouth right now.

Jack blinks, Kent’s overexplaining. He’s nervous. The more distance he had from the Q, the more he realized Kent had his own anxiety to deal with but refused to. He could vaguely remember one time when he was half-sober finding Kent crying in the bathroom reaching for his inhaler.

Jack: Where’s his inhaler?

Bitty: Shit, give me a second

Ten minutes later and still no text from Bitty. Jack settles on opening their presents. Parse is probably right, it’d be easier to not associate whatever they got with holidays and affection. One less thing to worry about, Jack surmises. He opens the smaller first, a camera strap for his DSLR, covered in maple leaves. He hardly fights back a chuckle. He’d been meaning to take his camera to campus. The next package is a box slightly larger than the first. He gasps when he opens it. A 250mm camera lens, and the right model for his camera. This had to be Kent’s present.

Jack thinks that this must be why Kent was scared shitless. It’s too personal, not even Shitty or Lardo get how much Jack loves photography. He only took his camera with him on roadies. Well he did, back when he played in the Q. It kept his mind clear. He thinks about how Kenny didn’t want to push this on him as some way to owe Jack. He would’ve rather it been a random ‘whatever’ gift from Bitty than something big from him. Because he didn’t want to push Jack. He didn’t want Jack to feel responsible to reciprocate. Jack considers how Bitty mentioned Kent was on the verge of quitting. Why hadn’t he told him? They were still friends…right? Even after all this time. He had needed space, not for Kent to fall off the deep end because Jack was pushing him away. Only…Kent understood, that much was clear. Jack can’t blame himself for Kent not being ok when Kent wanted the best for them both.

Bitty: Ok, thanks for the heads up. He’s good now.

Jack sighs in relief.

Bitty: He wants to apologize for taking up your time? I s2g this boy…

Jack: Tell him it’s no problem.

Jack: And thanks

Jack: For the presents

Bitty: Of course! Merry Christmas

“Who’s that from?” Maman is leaning against his bedroom door, a soft smirk graces her features as she asses the lens.

“Uh, a friend of mine from school.”

“Shitty?”

“No, Eric,” it’s not inaccurate.

“The figure skater,” Alicia supplies.  “Well that was nice of him.”

“It’s from Kenny too,” he doesn’t know why he corrects her.

He feels wrong leading her on. He thinks back to those moments in the hospital when he kicked Kent out and Maman had to make sure he wasn’t allowed back in the hospital. It hadn’t been fair to either of them, but he loved his mother for always being on his side. Alicia inspects it closer, looking wearily at the camera strap. She sits down, puts a hand gently on his shoulder. Jack leans into touch, turning to hug her.  

When he was a teenager, it felt like all he did was run away; from the media, people, and his feelings. He’s been in a free fall ever since the accident – wading through a storm without a destination. Meeting Bittle changed something. He doesn’t understand what any of it means yet. All he knows is that on the other side of the continent is Bitty and Parse, together. For some reason, that doesn’t seem bad anymore.

“I think I need to go ship something,” he tells his mother. “I…it seems right.”

“Ok,” Alicia agrees calmly, patting his leg. “I’ll go make some coco.”

_/.\\_

Later that day, Bitty’s helping Mama with the roast while Kenny is up to his arms in mashed potatoes. Eric tries not to laugh when a bit gets on Kent’s nose somehow.

“You think that’s funny Bittle?”

“No, no, it’s a good look for you Parse,” he chirps.

Kent scoops up a finger full of potato and taunts Bitty. “Come here.”

“Don’t you dare, Kent Virgil,” Bitty hisses.

“Middle names won’t help you today, Eric Richard,” Kent launches himself at Bitty.

Bitty bolts to the other side of the kitchen table as Kent runs a him.

“Boys!” Mama shouts after them. “If you make a mess y’all’ll be cleaning up this kitchen for a month.”  

They don’t pay her much mind as they run through the living room, mindful of the kids watching Frozen. Eric runs for the backyard door, sliding it open heavily before Kent turns the corner. He doesn’t have time to close the door as he drops off the porch to grass. Kent jumps as well; his stance is hunched and determined. He charges forward. Bitty is able to side step him a few times, but this isn’t ice. It’s a sixty-five degree Georgia winter day. Kent finally goes for a tackle. Bitty gets knocked off his feet, he flinches for a moment. He’s falling backwards, he looks at Kent with fear in his eyes. Kenny looks at him reassuringly, time inches slowly. When they’ve stopped moving, Bitty realizes Kent’s right hand is cradling his head. 

“I gotcha,” Kent says softly. “I’m sorry, I forgot.”

“I…” Bitty sighs he wheezes slightly, wondering if the adrenaline is keeping him sane.

“C’mon,” Kent whispers, threading his fingers through Bitty’s bangs “give me three jam flavors.”

“Blackberry, blueberry, raspberry.”

“Ok, three more.”

Bitty takes a deep breath “pluot, cherry, kiwi.”

Kenny looks at him strangely “you make kiwi jam?”

“Just when I’m upset,” Bitty laughs through tears.

“I’ll have to take that as a complement,” Kent snarks.

Bitty giggles, looking up appreciatively, “thanks for catching me.”

“Always,” Kent murmurs leaning closer, his eyes are a warm brown. Bitty can’t help but get lost in them. He tries to remember life without Kent, the memories seem to blur away. His face is inches away from Bitty’s. Bitty doesn’t know whether to kiss him or run away. Then he feels something get smooshed on his nose. Dammit, he forgot about the mashed potatoes.

“There will be consequences for this, Kenny” he sneers.

“Is that a promise?” Kenny waggles his eyebrows, propping himself up on is elbow slightly.

A blood curdling shout makes Bitty flinch. “Boys stop acting like fags and get the fuck in here!”

They both look up, it’s Uncle Dave with his face bloody red and his pupils popping out of his sockets. Eric braces himself for whatever his family can dish out on them. He just doesn’t want them to hurt Kenny. But then, Kenny’s not moving.

“Get off,” Bitty grunts quietly.

Kent shakes his head, refusing to look away from Dave. “No fucking way am I letting him touch you.”

“Did you hear what I said boy? Get off Eric and come inside! Fucking queer.”  

“Dave!” They hear a shout from behind the man. Coach isn’t an especially tall man, but he’s tall enough to grab Dave by his shirt collar and drag him back inside.

Kent lets out a breath, stands up carefully, and offers Bitty a hand. Bitty hesitates before taking it. “Stand behind me ok?”

Bitty nods dumbly, following carefully into the house. The kids are still watching Frozen. Mama, MooMaw, as well as some of the teenagers and adults are watching Coach and Dave in the driveway.

Mama looks over in their direction “you boys alright?”

“Yea,” Kent answers for them both. “Umm can we…” he gestures his head towards upstairs.

Mama nods, “I’ll be up in a minute.”

Kent takes Bitty’s hand and pulls him gently. He distinctly hears Jenny telling Michelle, “I told you he was taken.”

Kent passes his guest room and takes them straight into Bitty’s, closing the door behind them. Kent leads him to the bed, pushing him down gently. He kneels in front of him checking for injuries. Typical.

“I’m fine, he didn’t touch me,” he protests half-heartedly.

“Humor me, ok?” Kent runs his hands carefully over Bitty’s face and sides.

“What do you think they’re gonna do to us?” he asks dejectedly.

“Nothing, Coach’s taking care of Dave right now,” Kenny assures him.

“But what about after?”

Kent stares at him strangely. “I guess they might be annoyed that I was flirting with you when I should’ve been making dinner? But they’ll get over it. It’s not the first time I’ll get a lecture about doing before thinking.”  

Bitty glares at him, “there was so much I didn’t understand about that sentence.”

“Such as?”

“Why wouldn’t they be more concerned with you…on me?”

“Because they know I’m bi?”

“And they’re ok with that?!”

“Chyea, why wouldn’t they?”

“Why has no one mentioned this before?!”

“Mentioned what?” Mama and Coach are in the doorway, peering in intently. He can hear MooMaw climbing up the stairs behind them.

Eric balks, glancing between everyone. “You knew he wasn’t straight?”

“We’ve known since he was thirteen, son,” Coach informs him.

“Dicky, it’s no big deal,” his mama shakes her head. “Love is love after all.”

Eric has never been so irritated in his entire life. “WHEN WAS SOMEONE GONNA MENTION THAT?”

“Why are you shouting?” Kenny gripes. “It’s not like you haven’t—oh.”

“Oh what?” Mama inquires neutrally.

 Bitty sighs, “Mama, I’m gay.”

Mama and Coach look at each other, nod and smile a bit. Mama speaks up, “well…we didn’t wanna jump to any conclusions, baby. But we’re glad you told us, we love you.”

“…You suspected something,” Bitty accuses.

“‘Course,” Coach smirks “it wasn’t the figure skating or nothing.”

“You genuinely seemed interested in boys,” Mama adds “and you were so cute trailing after Kenny like a little puppy dog.”

“We thought y’all would be dating by now…” MooMaw interjects.

Bitty flushes, “MooMaw.”

“But we’re not touching that with an eight-foot pole,” Mama throws her hands up in surrender.

Coach chuckles then grows serious, “I told Dave to hit the road and made it clear to everyone where the door was if they wanted to follow him.”

“Thanks, Coach,” Kent gulps. “I wasn’t looking forward to spending Christmas in jail.”

“Anytime, son,” Coach nods. “But maybe next time, don’t go galivanting around the entire house like a bunch of hormone-crazed teenagers.”

“Yes sir,” they both say.

Mama and Coach walk off, leaving Bitty an opening to talk to Kent alone.

Bitty smiles at him shyly. “So back to that flirting…”

Kent scrubs his face, “in hindsight I was jumping the gun a little bit. We haven’t talked much in the last five years.”

“True,” Bitty frowns. “doesn’t mean I wasn’t excited.”

“You still wanna?”

“Course,” Bitty sighs. “Maybe right now it’s a dumb idea. Is that ok?”

“I can wait,” Kent assures him. “As long as you need.”

“Really?”

“Dicky, I don’t care if I have to wait until the ends of time,” he slings an arm around the younger casually. “I’ll be your friend if that’s what you need. I just wanna be here,” Kent gestures between them, “always.”

_/.\\_

The next morning, three Bittles (MooMaw was spending Christmas Eve with some of her other children) and Kenny are sitting in front of the television watching _Home Alone_ (as part of their annual marathon) when the doorbell rings.

“I got it,” Kent offers.

“Now you’re the guest, honey,” Mama orders. “Dicky go answer the door.”

Bitty chuckles, “yes ma’am.”  He heaves himself off the couch.

A UPS delivery man hands him a large box. It’s surprisingly light. He takes it into the kitchen, placing it on the island.

“Who’s it from Dicky?” Mama calls out.

“Jack?” Bitty croaks.

Mama, Coach and Kent snap their heads around.

“Didn’t you used to date a Jack?” Coach inquires of Kenny.

“He’s Dicky’s hockey captain now,” Mama fills him in.

Kent waves them off, “what he get you?”

“It’s for both of us,” Bitty pulls out a knife.

“The fuck?” Kent yelps.

“Language, Kent Virgil,” Suzanne swats his arm.

“Yes ma’am,” he jumps off the arm chair and approaches cautiously.  

The box opens to a styrofoam box, inside that box is an ice pack, Bitty pulls it out, underneath is an old flip-top lunch box. It’s cobalt blue and worse for wear. Bitty pulls it out and puts it on the counter. He looks at Kent expectantly.

“He brought that to every game,” Kenny informs him.

“He still does, it’s how he packs the sandwiches I make,” Bitty adds.

“Gonna ignore that,” Kent says mostly to himself. He inspects it curiously, “you open it.”

“Oh you big baby,” Bitty unzips it himself.

There’s a card on top, scrapbook perfection with a little robin wrapped in a large scarf. Bitty grabs it, opening it as Kent peers over his shoulder. The message is simple.

_Merry Christmas_

_Both of you._

Bitty looks back at the bag, there are two sandwiches inside Ziploc bags. He hands Kent the one with his name on it. Bitty thinks it’s obvious what kind of sandwiches they are, but he’s surprised by the awed look on Kent’s face as he takes a bite.

“I fucking love blackberry,” he moans. “What about you?”

Bitty takes a bite “strawberry,” he murmurs.

“Well that’s…” Mama trails off.

“Nice,” Kent says quietly. “It’s really nice. I…I always made them.”

Bitty perks up at that. This is a lot more than two sandwiches, he thinks. If Bitty didn’t know any better, he’d say it’s less of a thank you and more of a promise. Jack can take care of them too.

“Isn’t that something,” Bitty thinks out loud.

_/.\\_

Boxing Day is relatively quiet. Mama and Dicky go to the grocery store. Kent fixes lunch while they’re out. He hears them pulling up as his ring tone goes off. It’s Greg, the Aces’ GM.

“This can’t be good,” he sighs under his breath. “Yo, Greg, Merry Christmas.”

“Same to you, Kent,” Greg’s hoarse voice rumbles in his ear. “Listen, these calls are never easy but I’m gonna come out and say it. We traded you to the Falconers.”

“What?” Kent clenches fist. He takes a deep breath. _Don’t snap_ , he commands himself. “Can I ask why?”

“Kid, you know a year ago, I would have been fucking nuts to give you up…”

“But…” he prompts.

“But that was when we thought we could pull a better defense for this season,” Greg explains.  “We got the entire team to think about, kid. You said so yourself, you wanted to step down from the captaincy at the end of the season. That makes you a regular player, Kent.”

Kent doesn’t respond.

Greg sighs. “You said you needed to find a way to make hockey exciting again. And the Falconers drove a hard bargain. Maybe…a change of scenery will help.”

Silence ensues. Kent doesn’t know what to do. Bitty and Mama come through the door giggling. Kent shushes them politely, sighing.  

“Yea I…shit I’m not mad Greg. I get it.”

“They’ll treat you well, kid. George will make sure of that,” the man promises.

“Thanks, for everything I guess,” Kenny offers.

“Take care of yourself, Kent.”

“You too, Greg,” he hangs up and runs a hand through his hair; trying to breathe evenly.

Kenny feels someone putting his inhaler in his hand. Two puffs open his chest faster than a key to a treasure chest.  “Thanks,” he addresses no one in particular.

“What’s up Kenny?” Mama rubs his back gently.

“I got traded.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title - All We Know by Chainsmokers (Ho Ho Hopefully by the Maine if you were expecting a Christmas song)
> 
> Funny story, the thing about Kent getting lost in Atlanta is based on my (negative) assessment of their way finding system (still a nice airport though). But a week after I wrote this scene, I spent an hour at another airport waiting to pick up my SO because they had gotten lost. Makes me kinda wish I had rewritten that part in Bitty's POV.
> 
> Technically this is the end of Part 1, folks. For anyone who's curious.
> 
> *Swoops isn't Swoops. Ngozi has stated his name is officially Troy. This fic has now been updated to reflect that. (I still think his first name is Jeff though so fight me)*


	6. Reflections

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "I think this is the start of a beautiful friendship."

“Lord, how can you be this disorganized?”

Kent asses the large stack of boxes in front of them and shrugs. “Seems fine to me.”

Bitty tsks. “You have unpacked maybe two boxes since you’ve been here, sir. How do you expect Kit to live in these conditions?”

Kit, a grey domestic short hair saunters into the room. She slips passed them and into a half-empty box of blankets next to the couch.

“She seems to like it,” Kenny argues casually.

“I’m gonna need compensation for everything I’ve cleaned so far,” he huffs.

“Understood.”  

Bitty and Mama had flown back with Kent to Vegas. They helped him pack as much as they could in two days, finished up while he went to Providence, and shipped it to the apartment the he leased with the help of the Falconer’s team services representative, Gemma Richards. Kent had flown with Kit and gotten her a regular sitter. It was a few days before Bitty was expected back on campus (for hockey, not class).  Bitty had come back early to organize a few logistics with Kent.  Among them was picking up Coach’s truck which Kent had paid to get sent over since Bitty would be cat sitting on occasion. At least, that’s how Kent had explained it to the Bittles. Eric was sure he did it more for Bitty’s sake than his.

“I’ll see what I can do,” Eric grumbles. He picks up another clothing box and heads to Kent’s bedroom. He’s sorting through clothing meticulously, piling some on the side for hanging later.

“Dicky, you really don’t have to do anything,” Kent’s watching him from the doorway.

“I’m sure you’ll thank me once this mess is cleared up and y’all can come home to a nice, clean apartment,” Bitty insists.  

He clicks his tongue, trying to think on his feet. He glances in the direction of his new kitchen. “Cooking or unpacking, you pick one and I’ll do the other,” Kent offers.

Dicky preens and stands up off the floor, “I’ll make ravioli.”

“Knew it,” Kent calls after Dicky, chuckling to himself.  

_/.\\_

He gets the bedroom unpacked and, mostly, clean by the time Eric’s hollering that dinner’s ready. His new apartment is nice. It has that industrial feel with half-finished high ceilings, wooden support beams, hardwood floors, and faded brick walls. It’s not as ritzy as his last place, but Bitty thinks that’s for the best.

“Now was that so bad?” Bitty chastises him playfully.

“Truly awful,” Ken side hugs Bitty before grabbing his plate.

“We could probably move the rest of the unpacked boxes to the empty room for now,” Eric suggests as they eat.

“Jesus, it’s like you want me to invite people over,” Kent snarks.

Bitty grins suggestively. “Maybe I’m gearing up to have a big party while y’all are on a roadie.”

“You could just ask, y’know?” Kent arches an eyebrow.

“Pfft, communication,” Bitty rolls his eyes. “Where’s the fun in that?”

Kent, Bitty has rediscovered, makes inappropriate sounds when he likes what he’s eating. As if he’s forgotten how good food can be (maybe he has, he’s been living by himself for years now).  Bitty tries to keep his blush under control as best as possible.

“You going up tomorrow?”  Kenny instigates small talk. His lips quirk in a way that makes it hard for Bitty to concentrate.

“Huh?” Bitty snaps himself out of it.  “No, the dorms don’t open for another two days.”

Kenny shrugs, “throw a wild party if you want to. Just don’t get me kicked out of here.”

“I’ll be sure to keep that in mind when I spend an evening with Kit and Les Mis,” he points at Kent with his fork.

“You know how gay that sounds right?”

“Says the man who still owns Taylor Swift posters from 2009,” Bitty chirps.

“Touché.” 

Kent goes on a five-day roadie the next day. Bitty sees him out the door, they hug for dear life. Bitty reminds himself that the last few days—with the entire universe being within these walls—was just a nice dream. It was time to wake up.

“Don’t let Zimms go too hard on you,” Kent orders.

Bitty hums peacefully. “Wouldn’t dream of it.”

“Oh, and if you ever need to blackmail him…” Kent looks behind them suspiciously, “make him something with huckleberry in it.”

Bitty gives him a dirty glare, “I don’t even wanna know, do I?”

Kent smirks triumphantly. “Not unless you wanna eat huckleberry ever again.”

“Oh, before I forget,” Bitty runs to the kitchen, grabbing the lunchbox on the counter. It’s a flip top, like Jack’s, but it’s new and forest green. “Now I know y’all packed your supplies already, but I thought you might like one premade sandwich.”  

Kent gets a little watery around his eyes, and pulls him in for another hug.

“I’ll snap you until you’re sick of me” Kent murmurs.

“Cross your heart?”

“Always,” Kenny promises.

Three days later, he leaves Kit with enough food for the next day, and a blackberry pie in the fridge with a note on top.

_One day at a time_

_/.\\_

“Tell me how this is supposed to help?” Jack asks worriedly.

They’re standing in the living room of the Haus, squabbling.

Bitty sighs, collecting his thoughts. “I realized that falling isn’t as bad when I think someone’s gonna catch me before I hit the ground. I don’t…I can protect myself, but there’s something about feeling alone that sets me off.”

“But I won’t be able—”

“That don’t matter, Jack Laurent” Bitty tenses. “I just gotta trust you so I can trust myself, ok? You don’t owe me anything.”

“Ok,” Jack hesitates, “but why the couch?”

“I thought you'd want to keep your hand in tact” Bitty chirps. “Now are y’all gonna stand there all day?”

Before Bitty can fully process it, Jack knocks him off his feet. In the air, it’s sheer terror and panic. On the way up, it’s nothing but uncertainty. It’s boys smacking him into the walls when Mama wasn’t around. It’s bruises that were harder and harder to cover up with makeup; blues and purples inked so deep on his skin they could’ve been tattoos. It’s being locked in that closet all night, wondering if this is what fear of God feels like. It’s the feeling of Kenny slipping further and further until he nearly forgets why he got on the ice in the first place.

But then he feels the apex. He feels Jack’s hand wrap around his head protectively now. Only it isn’t just Jack’s hand. It’s the captain that met him with empathy and patience. It’s the teammates that quickly became family as soon as he could feel them on ice. It’s Coach kicking Dave out, and Mama telling Charlize to mind her own damn business at the New Year’s Eve Party. It’s Kent keeping a promise. It’s Jack bumping his hip, saying ‘hey bud’. It’s a peanut butter and jelly sandwich. He’s in free fall.

He’s free.

He lands on the couch. Jack still cradling his head. His blue irises gape back at Bitty, like they’ve touched every memory in Bitty’s life up to this moment, _together_. He can’t tell if this will conquer everything. If the next time a six foot three player crashes into him he won’t crumble. But Eric Richard Bittle, in this moment, understands one thing to be true.

He’s not alone anymore.

_/.\\_

It’s late January and things are looking up for Kent Parson’s hockey career. Sure, he wasn’t shitty, per say, with the Aces. But now he felt so much better. The team dynamic wasn’t just chill, it was so accepting. He felt himself fitting in for the first time in years. Not getting by because he was the captain and ‘fun but firm’. He was another one of the guys, and it felt awesome.

He has good chemistry with Tater and they become fast friends. He thought it would be impossible to fill the Troy-sized hole in his heart (which still definitely exists but with Tater being literal sunshine and Snowy’s never ending antics, it tides him through between skype calls).

“Snowy, trade rooms with Tater,” Kent storms across the lobby at the hotel they’ve booked in Seattle.

“Not on your fucking life, Kenny,” Snowy says flippantly. “Tates, what did you do to piss off his highness?”

“Kenny ass hurt about comment,” Tater huffs indignantly.

“He said Katy Perry and Sia sound the same to him,” Kent hisses.

Marty and Thirdy, seated not too far away, are cackling to themselves.

“Still don’t see what big deal is,” Tater admits.

“I can’t even be in the same room as you right now.”

“Stop being such a baby,” Snowy flicks his temple.

“Oh? And what if I told you having a favorite Kardashian is pointless because they’re all the same?” Kent counters.

“…You’re on your own, Tater Tot,” Snowy relents.

Kent rolls his eyes, “well thanks for being about as useful as tits on a bull.” His southern drawl slips out accidentally. He covers his mouth in shock.

Marty, Third, Snowy and Tater look at him with apprehension, amusement, and intrigue.

“What the fuck was that,” Snowy demands.

“Nothing,” Kent lies with a straight face.   

“No, no,” the goalie refutes. “You’re not getting out of this one, fucker. Why don’t you share with the class?”

“I’m going to agree with Snowy on this one, kid,” Marty smiles encouragingly.

Kent sighs, he considers it for a moment. He never told anyone on the Aces about this stuff (except Troy, he probably knows enough to write his own tell-all). “Guess y ’all are alright.”

“What are these words coming out of your mouth!”

“Shut your fucking trap, Snowy,” Kent sneers half-heartedly. “So my parents divorced when I was super young, yea? I was born in Georgia. My mom moved back to New York and I spent summers with my dad until I joined the Q.”

“So, you is real southern boy,” Tater muses.

“Holy fuck,” Snowy is on the edge of his seat. “You have some fucking southern honey we don’t know about?”

Kent’s cheeks glow a bright red.

“He does!” Snowy hollers, “you got this whole secret ass life down there don’t you Kenny? If that is your name.”

Kenny, for his part grimaces. He signed up for this, right? “It’s Kent, you asshat. But my family down there call me Kenny.”

“So is fitting nickname, we like new family for you,” Tater reasons.  

Kent smiles slightly, nodding in agreement.

Then another, horrifying, thought enters Kent’s mind. “You guys won’t embarrass me when my friend Eric watches us play right?”

Tater and Snowy look at each other, and back at Kent with somber faces. Almost immediately, they burst out into laughter.

Kent cringes, smirk creeping onto his face. Yea, he really liked his new team. “Thanks, guys.”

_/.\\_

It’s late February, and Kent is on his biweekly Bitty call. They kept in touch enough at is was, but there was something about seeing Kent’s face that settles Bitty. He’s in the living room, avoiding the green couch like the plague.

“So this weekend?” 

“I wouldn’t miss it,” Bitty confirms. “I feel bad I had to miss your last few home games.”

“Dicky, it’s fine,” Kent waves him off. “You got your own hockey team and schedule to deal with.”

“Thanks for understanding,” Bitty smiles graciously.

“Think nothing of it,” Kent assures him. “So…you think you’re gonna invite anyone to watch with you?”

“Did you have anyone in mind?” Eric doesn’t say it out loud, but who else could Kent mean?

“What—no totally not,” Kent denies abruptly. “No…I didn’t mean…fuck, ugh. Fuck, sorry. That probably sounded shitty. Really, fucking shitty. I didn’t mean Jack. You can invite Jack if you want. I can handle it, don’t worry. But don’t…if you don’t want to…fuck.  I don’t mean—”

“Kenny,” Bitty says his name like a command, and a plea.

“Yea, give me a second,” Kent gets up. He hears an inhaler off screen and some angry muttering. Kent comes back looking tired, but better.

“Better?”

“Much,” Kent fights back a yawn. “Ok let’s try that again.”

“So, I should invite a friend to the game?” Bitty supplies.

“Yes.” He swallows awkwardly. “I wanna meet your friends. I could get more tickets if you need them, but I figured…one’s a good start?”

“That sounds perfect,” Bitty acquiesces. “Lemme see who I can ask and I’m sure they’ll be tickled pink to make your acquaintance.”

“Sweet, oh,” Kent’s mouth is slightly agape. “Tater Tot said thanks for the cookies. You shouldn’t have.”

“It’s my pleasure,” Bitty’s voice is a little too haughtily.

“Wait ‘til he’s saying Beyoncé sounds like Leona Lewis,” Kent retort bitterly.

“Honey, Tater loves Beyoncé. We’ve already discussed this.”

Kent rolls his eyes. He looks like he’s about to make a snide comment when he takes a deep breath. His expression softens considerably. “Tell me about your day.”

“Oh, well,” it still caught Bitty off guard when Kent was gentle like this rambles on for a while.

It’s a comfortable routine they’ve gotten themselves into. They went from apprehensive childhood friends to thicker than thieves in nothing flat. They watch food and fashion competitions together when time allows. They have some of the greatest Twitter conversations and no one understands how Bitty just came out of the wood work. They talk through problems and new trends. And they chirp each other mercilessly.

 A lot has changed over the last few months. But in the grand scheme of things, it’s all come back around. Bitty thinks it’s nice to be in this place with each other again.  

_/.\\_

Truth be told, Bitty had no idea who to invite. It’s a few days later at the Haus, he’s waiting for a batch of cupcakes to finish baking. He couldn’t invite Ransom or Holster without inviting the other. Besides, he thinks that they’d both faint in front of Kent. Johnson goes somewhere on weekends when they have breaks. Shitty maybe? He had been great to come out to. It wouldn’t be a terrible idea. Still…he knew about some of the stuff with Jack. It might be weird without telling him much more than he could know right now. Jack? Jack might be ok. He and Kent were better at hearing anecdotes about the other. And Jack asked after Kent every couple of weeks. Usually with a chirp about his last game. Eric thinks that must be nice for Kent to know that Jack still cares in some capacity.

But what if they aren’t ready to meet in person? The three of them were anxious messes. But there was that time over Christmas break. When Jack had spotted Kenny’s anxiety before Bitty. It wasn’t perfect, but it felt like they were meant to help each other. Like they just fit together.

“Hey Bittle,” John Johnson disrupts his musings, just in time for the timer to ding.

“Oh, hey Johnson,” Bitty slips his oven mitts on to take out pumpkin-maple cupcakes.  

“You seem perplexed, brah,” Johnson observes. He takes a seat at the table, facing Bitty attentively.

“Hmm?” Bitty’s distractedly placing the cupcakes to cool. “Well I guess you could say that.”

“You’re wondering if it’s a good idea to invite Jack to see Kent play,” he answers.

“How did you—never mind,” if Bitty started down that rabbit hole, he feared he’d never get out.

“So like, the way this narrative works, you _could_ invite him. But their interaction will be stifled at best and may set back their tentative friendship. Normally, that’d be a fine plot beat, but not for a story that’s already much longer than originally anticipated.”

“Well what do you suggest?” _Why am I asking Johnson for advice?_

“It’s chill dude. This author feels that we have a decent friendship outside of a minor plot device. Anyway, you can trust Lardo. She’s a good friend.”

Bitty gasps, of course. “You’re a genius. I’m baking you something, right now. How’s a pear chocolate crumble sound?”

“Sounds like more than I eat in canon,” he jokes.

“Is that a yes?”

Johnson’s blue eyes glint mischievously. “Chyeah, dude.”

_/.\\_

“Hey Lardo,” Bitty approaches her at practice the next morning.

Lardo glances up from her clipboard. “What’d up Bits?”

“I got an extra ticket for the Falconers game on Friday,” he wrings his hands nervously. “Wanna go with me?”

“Just so we’re on the same page, not a date?”

“God no,” Bitty covers mouth. He can’t believe how rude that sounded. “Sorry, it’s nothing on you. I’m just very, happily gay.”

“No worries, dude,” Lardo her tone is patient and understanding. “And yea, I’m down. How’re we getting down there?”

“I got my car on campus,” he explains. “And um, I have a friend in Providence? I, we, were wondering if you’d like to get dinner with us after?”

Lardo flashes a satisfied smirk, “sure, you can pick me up from the Haus at 5.”

“Bitty, getting a frate, ow ow!” Holster calls out as he skates by.  

“Frate?” Shitty reiterates skeptically.

“Friend-date,” Ransom elaborates.  

“That’s a word?” Jack asks seriously.

“Pretty sure he just made that up,” Lardo quips.

“Well let’s see if I ever invite any of you on a frate,” Holster pouts.

_/.\\_

“So this friend of yours…” Lardo begins after they ‘find’ parking (Kent got him friends and family parking).

“Yeah?” Bitty tries to suppress his nerves.

“Are they like a friend or a ‘friend’,” Lardo’s making air quotes liberally.

He halts momentarily. “I don’t know how to answer your question,” he admits.

“Ok, you can totally shut me down if I’m off base here,” Lardo preambles carefully.

“Ok…”

“You know you could tell me if you were dating someone, right?”

Bitty sputters, he tries (and fails) to recollect himself. He gets a grip as they entering the arena. “If I were dating someone who was out, then yes. But I’m really not dating anyone right now.”

“Do you want to be?” Lardo prompts. “This…not boyfriend”

He sighs, “it’s…complicated.”

“Complicated,” she parrots distastefully.

“Bad timing’s more like it,” he clarifies. “Right now we’re better off as friends.”

“Alright,” she accepts his response. “Can I still give him a ‘break Bitty’s heart and I’ll break your foot’ speech?”

“Please no,” he begs. They wait for their tickets to be checked in the first section.

“And will this ‘friend’ be sitting next to you this evening?”

When the bag checker complains about outside food, Bitty pulls out a badge. They’re allowed in without further ado.

“Oh Lord no, he’s working during the game.” He grins triumphantly, “that’s how I got these seats.”

He leads her to the friends and family section, unbeknownst to her. Bitty ushers her to two seats next to two women in Falcs jerseys. By the look on her face, Lardo clearly recognizes them from a few Falcs TV segments.

“Is your friend a player?” Lardo half-croaks.

“Something like that,” he says cryptically. “Hey ladies, allow me to introduce you to my friend Larissa Duan. Gabby’s Marty’s wife and Carrie’s married to Thirdy.”

“Unfortunately,” Carrie jokes. “Pleasure, by the way,” she extends her hand to Lardo.

 “Nice to meet you,” Gabby chimes in. “So what did you smuggle in this time, Eric?” She inquires excitedly.

“Y’all make me sound like a common criminal,” he sighs in defeat. Reaching into his messenger bag.  “Per request, I made y’all gluten free mint brownies.” Hands baggies over to them.

“Can I hire you to be my personal chef?” Gabby moans through bites.

“How ‘bout we discuss it once I graduate?” Bitty compromises.

“I would pay for you to go back to college…years from now.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Carrie chastises. “So Larissa how do you know Kent?”

The comment catches Lardo completely off guard. However, her face remains neutral and she recovers quickly. “He used to play with Jack Zimmermann. He’s the captain of our men’s hockey team. And resident hockey robot.”

“Kenny said I should start inviting more friends down,” Bitty informs.

“Well, he’s not wrong,” Carrie hums. “I feel bad for that boy sometimes. Where did you say his parents are?”

“Houston and Bali,” Bitty remarks. “Oh, and I emailed Ms. Parson, she gave me that peanut butter square recipe y’all were asking for.” He pulls out two sheets of paper, giving one to each.  

“Should we be expecting a Zimmermann-Parson reunion soon?” Gabby asks lightly.  

Bitty tenses a little, frowning, “honestly, I’m not sure.” He turns to look at the Falconers warming up. Kent flashes him a smile, Bitty waves back. “Anything’s possible at this point.”

_/.\\_

On the ice, Kent’s waggling his eyebrows at Bitty, who’s very obviously ignoring him now.

“Hey, Itty Bitty here,” Tater skates up next to him. “Why you no say so?”

“So he wouldn’t use up his study time baking for you,” Kent banters.

“Oh, no,” Thirdy comments. “Looks like he made something anyway.”

“If those are gluten-free I’m not gonna hear the end of ‘Eric’s the greatest’ ‘til the end of time,” Marty groans.

“Don’t worry, it grows on you,” Kent smiles genuinely.

_/.\\_

“Kent Fucking Parson?” Lardo demands while they’re in line for mini donuts during intermission. The Falcs are down by one against the Kings.

“No, Kent McCord, the TV actor,” he snarks.

“But like, does Jack know?”

“Know what?”

“Y’know…about you,” she gestures between Bitty and the general direction of center ice as if it’s supposed to indicate this thing between Kent and Bitty.

“He knows we’re friends, he knows we talk,” Bitty admits. “Hell, he’s actually warmed up to the idea.”

“Does he know you like Kent?”

“Sort of, it’s...complicated.”

“Why?” Her face falls immediately. “Wait, let me guess, bad timing?”

“Yep,” he pops the p to convey his frustration.

“Can I tell Shits about this?”

“If you exclude the fifteen-year crush, sure,” Bitty shrugs.

“There’s more?”

“You got a minute?”

“I got a fucking year for this, Bits,” she declares.

_/.\\_

“Promise you won’t say anything to him,” Bitty beseeches her. Him being Kent.  The game ended about forty-five minutes ago; the Falconers were able to secure a two point lead in the third period.

“Dude, I wouldn’t even know what to say if I wanted to,” she confesses. “But relax, I’m here for you,” Lardo puts a comforting hand on his shoulder.

“Thanks, Lardo,” he says honestly. “I’m really glad you’re here.”

They’re standing around outside of locker room, waiting for Kent. Five minutes later, he saunters out freshly showered in a suit and Falconers cap on backwards.

Bitty crosses his arms. “Kent Virgil Parson, did y’all seriously do an interview with that thing on?”

“What can I say? Force of habit,” he laughs sheepishly.

_/.\\_

Dinner is surprisingly calm. Kent and Bitty had previously scoped out a decent Italian place with lots of booths, decent pricing and great food. Kent, for his part, has gotten better at making small talk. Then again, he and Lardo click like best bros. Bitty shouldn’t be surprised, but it’s worth the victory lap Kent is planning later.

Currently, Kent’s scrolling through Lardo’s pic of her last few art projects. “These look amazing, shit, you’re amazing dude.”

“Stop,” she blushes.

“Seriously,” he maintains. “I will buy the shit out of those two, for starters.”

“Kenny’s always been a patron of the arts that’s for sure,” Bitty chirps.

“Hey,” Kent complains. “No gay jokes until you’ve seen a show with me.”

“Brah, if you take me to Broadway I will happily be your platonic sugar baby forever,” Lardo negotiates.

“I think we have to sign that in blood,” Kent’s face lights up like a small child at Christmas.

“Gross, no,” she feigns barfing.

“C’mon please?” Kent whines.  He brings out his soft southern accent for the sake of theatrics, “please darlin’ Larissa, won’t you do me the great honor of bonding us forever in blood?”

“Fuck no,” she giggles, and turns to Bitty. “He really is a southern boy.”

“Only when it’s convenient,” Kent and Bitty both answer. They crack up at their synchronicity.

“If y’all will excuse me for a moment,” Bitty gets up to head for the restroom. “Oh, and if the waiter comes back around ask for the dessert menu.”

“Ok I got one,” Kent picks up the conversation again.

“Shoot,” she smiles amicably.

“Will you design a tattoo for me?”

“Serious? Don’t go playing with my heart,” she stares him down.

“Chyeah bro,” he placates. “I dig your artistic vision. And I’ll compensate you properly.”

“I might have to take you up on that,” she looks blown away. “It’s been a while since I’ve designed one.”

“What was the last time?”

“Best friend in high school got in a car wreck the night before his Olympic trials,” Lardo regales him.

“Ouch,” he flinches. “What event?”

“Snowboarding, here I have a pic.” She unlocks her phone again and searches through Instagram. When she hands it over to Kent, there’s a black and white portrait of mountain inked on someone’s shoulder. “It was his favorite run.”

“Shit,” he exhales deeply. “That’s mega deep.”

Lardo shrugs unassumingly.

“You’re one of a kind, Lardo. I’m really glad Dicky has a friend like you in his life.”

“Thanks,” she accepts cautiously. “I’d say right back at ya, but…I don’t know if you qualify as a friend.”

“I…he was my best friend,” he argues.

“And now?” Clearly, she’s fishing for something. Kent hopes she understands what she’s asking.

“Well Jack was my best friend too and look how that worked out,” he points out.

“Doesn’t really answer the question bro,” she objects.

Kent sighs in frustration, “maybe we won’t always be friends but…I’m sick of not being in his life. I’ll take what he can give me.”

“Ok,” she says simply, taking a sip of her Coke.

“Ok?”

“You have my blessing,” Lardo reiterates. “Don’t do anything that sounds like it’s out of a bad rom com.”

“Are there good ones?”

“Who knows, but you catch my drift.”

“I swear on my cat’s million Instagram followers that I won’t be dumb,” he puts a hand over his heart. “That being said, I believe a belching competition is in order.” He reaches for his Sprite.

“I think this is the start of a beautiful friendship,” she smiles genuinely.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry that there wasn't more Jack in this chapter. There's more in the next one.  
> Also I firmly believe that Kent and Lardo are best friends and this is the beginning of that. 
> 
> Chapter title - Reflections by Misterwives
> 
> *Swoops isn't Swoops. Ngozi has stated his name is officially Troy. This fic has now been updated to reflect that.*


	7. 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sometimes Jack regrets showing Bittle his syllabus.

Sometimes Jack hated school. The problem with general curriculum requirements wasn’t their existence, rather the fact that they were paired with a shopping period. Meaning although he knew some classes that would work with his major requirements, he wouldn’t be sure what his schedule was until the second week of school. Which is how he ended up taking an English seminar entitled “Constructions of Heteronormativity in American Culture”.  

Quite honestly, he will never get back the week he spent reading _50 Shades of Grey_.

Regardless, the course examined popular works based on how they construct gender and relationship dynamics. It was self-explanatory, but he ended up talking himself out of dropping the course repeatedly. Mainly because Jack loved History, in part, because of how much he loathed fiction.

“I’m sorry what?” he overheard Bitty Skyping Kent one day.

“He hates most books, movies, and video games,” Kent explained. The Haus was empty after lunch, so their voices carried easily to entrance hallway. “Actually, I think if you frame anything right, Zimms will love it.”

“So then why does he conditionally hate fiction?”

“I don’t know, Dicky,” Kent sighs. “Maybe he got sick of the media trash talking him or his dad? Maybe it was the movies that took his mom away for months at a time and made him a mostly single-parent kid? Maybe he thinks of fiction as a form of lying.”

“Or fantasy,” Jack adds without thinking.

Bitty walks around the corner, his laptop in tow. His face is equal parts guilty and surprised. Kent’s dawned his signature façade of confidence and distance.

“Is this an intervention?” Jack chirps.

Kent, thankfully, laughs. “You have the worst sense of humor.”

“I’ll say,” Bitty, poorly, holds back a smile. “Were you spying on us Mr. Zimmermann?”

“I live here,” he responds automatically. “You just hold meetings about me behind my back, eh?”

“No.” Bitty says just as Kent jokes “all the time.”

“He’s lying,” Bitty insists. “I was just…concerned about how much you don’t like this class.”

Jack shrugs, unsure what to tell Bittle.

“See?” He points to Jack accusingly. “This is why I called for backup. What does that shrug mean?”

“Means he doesn’t want to tell you to buzz off,” Kent translates. “But he also kinda does.”

Jack quirks a brow.

“Oh, and that means ‘why are you telling Bittle all my secrets, Kenny?’” Kent mimics Jack’s accent for emphasis.

“That’s…a horrible impression of me,” he relents.

Kenny shrugs, “I’m out of practice.”

Bitty shakes his head ruefully. His eyes soften when they look back at him. “So…chirping aside, what are you gonna do Jack? Y’all need to finish your requirements this semester.”

“I’ll just have to tough it out I guess,” he shrugs.

“Alright, what can we do to help?” Kenny offers.

“That’s not necessary.”

Kent rolls his eyes. “Who knows? Maybe you’ll pick up a goddamn book every once in a while. Become a more well-rounded person. Well, everywhere that isn’t your ass.”

“Stop that,” Bitty reprimands quietly. “Just be straight with him. And before you crack another joke, Kent Virgil, you know what I mean.”

“Fine,” Kent runs a hand through his hair. “Sorry if I’m acting like an ass. I feel really uncomfortable telling you what to do when I don’t even know if this is ok.”

“Telling me what to do?” Jack guesses.

“Talking to you,” he clarifies.

“Oh,” the comment throws Jack off guard. “You can always talk to me Kenny.”

Kent ducks out of sight for a moment, when his face pops up again, there’s a grey cat in the way.

“Lord,” Bitty mutters. Jack concurs, Kent is hiding a blush behind his cat. It’s amusing and a little flattering.

“Hush,” Kent glares at Eric. Well now Jack knows where Kent learned to say that. “Kit, meet Zimms. Zimms this little lady is the love of my life.”

“Hello,” he tells the cat seriously because he’s sure that even if the cat has no idea what he’s saying, it’s what Kent wants to hear.

Bitty smiles and Kent downright giggles. Jack thinks about something Kenny said when they were seventeen, arguing about _Catcher in the Rye_.

_History is just a bunch of real life stories someone gave a fuck enough about to write down._

Jack wonders how many stories like theirs never get told.

_/.\\_

Jack isn’t fully aware of the circumstances that land him sitting in the kitchen on a Wednesday night, talking to Bitty and Parse (yes Parse, in person) about _The Great Gatsby_. The writing itself is fine, but the characters leave a lot to be desired. He’s reminded of the first time he read Pride  & Prejudice as a twelve-year-old and how much he loathed the characters, other than Elizabeth. Of course, that was probably one of his favorite book of all time (up there with _Les Miserables_ and _A Tale of Two Cities_ ).  The Great Gatsby had not improved with age. It was, however, a slightly richer experience the third time reading it; examining each passage to find where everything went wrong (or could have been salvaged). His therapist told him once there’s a distinct line between reflection and obsession. Jack isn’t sure that line exists in fiction.

He’s working through the last third of the book as the sun was going down. He’s sitting in the reading room, the early March weather is surprisingly mild.

“Is that safe?” He hears a familiar voice shout from the front lawn. It startles him for a moment _._ Kent is holding a large cardboard box with a curious gaze. Jack takes a deep breath. _It’s Kenny, it’s ok_ , he reminds himself.

“Jack, don’t mind him,” Bits is following behind with grocery bags in tow. “We’re here to bake double chocolate chip cookies. But we’ll head to the student kitchens in a jiffy if that’s what you need.”

Need, Bittle says. Kent has said it before too. They’re not calling him out for being pissy or treating him with kid gloves. They want what’s best for Jack.  

“I don’t mind,” he tells them, because he honestly doesn’t. Not anymore.

“Ok, we’ll be downstairs if y’all need anything.”

He doesn’t come down right away, choosing to read through the rest of the book. He doesn’t know if it’s to speed up seeing Kent or deter him from interrupting. If he feels his anxiety creep up, it doesn’t feel debilitating. It’s closer to how he used to feel after a win. Butterflies that could easily gnarl into something ugly; emotions floating in stasis.

He finishes the book and heads downstairs. The smell of chocolate hits him as soon as he opens his bedroom door. Kent’s watching something on his laptop, quietly discussing something with Bitty as he washed dishes.

“Maybe,” Kent says absent-mindedly.

“Maybe as in you’ll think about it or maybe you’ll ignore me?”

Kent closes the lid of his computer. “I like these guys, they’re not _my boys_ , but the Falcs management is so much better. But I don’t…” He turns around to look at Jack.

“How’d you know I was here?”

“Everyone’s steps are different,” Kent looks away as he blushes. “Not to sound like a perv, but I always hear you coming.”

“Oh,” Jack replies softly. “Can I?” gestures to a chair next to Kent.

“Go for it, Dicky’s trying to talk me out of quitting hockey. _Again_.”

“I’m just saying,” Bitty scrubs his mixing bowl harder.  “If it were about hockey itself making you miserable, I’d tell you to stop in a heartbeat. But that’s not it. And the sooner you fess up to what’s wrong, the sooner I can start helping you.”

Kent groans, throwing his head in his hands. He turns to Jack. “Want a cookie?”

“Huh?”

“A cookie, Zimms,” he gestures to the counter behind me.

“Sure,” Jack shrugs noncommittally.

Bitty hands Kent the plate of finished double chocolate chip cookies.

“Maybe you can talk some sense into him, Jack,” Bitty suggests bitterly.

“Or we could focus on something that matters?” Kent deflects.

“Such as?” Bitty throws his hands on his hips.

He glances over at Jack’s book, “Jack hates _The Great Gatsby_.”

“No I don’t,” Jack scoffs.

“You hated it in high school,” Kent points out.

“The characters are horrible and the epitome of self-indulgent and delusional,” Jack complains.

“Don’t forget a ‘misrepresentation of the upper class,’” Kent smirks triumphantly.

“Really? That was your problem with this book?” Bitty throws him a weary glare.

“Back then it was,” Jack admits.  “I never understood why Gatsby threw everything into winning Daisy. She wasn’t worth it.”

“Does it matter? He chose that life for himself. He couldn’t let go.”

“Well she wasn’t a good person either,” Bitty argues. “She and Tom were equally responsible for his death.”

“The Daisy Gatsby loved wasn’t real anyway,” Kent huffs. “They were young and in lust. Whatever they had died years ago. He wasn’t in love when he died and neither was she. He was chasing a dream he wanted so badly that he projected all of his conceptions of happiness onto being successful and with Daisy. Instead of facing reality.”

Jack remembered Kent had a penchant for talking about everything and nothing at the same time. “What’s the reality?”

“Maybe he should’ve succumbed to a life of poverty years ago,” Kent shrugs solemnly. “The only reason he compromised himself for infamy was to fill a void that no one could for him. And the only reason he lived as long as he did was stubbornness and dumb luck.”

Jack gapes at Kent. The room is sweltering as time grinds to a halt. Jack feels his breath catch in his throat, and stick. He tries to swallow, or break eye contact. Kent’s expression is grieving and hopeless. The words ring in Jack’s head. _Dumb luck_ , as if he hadn’t fought tooth and nail to stay above water. _Stubbornness_ , as if being a live were a sad mistake instead of a great accomplishment. Jack reminds himself that Kent isn’t referring to Jack—even if he isn’t talking about the book anymore.

“You know what’s the saddest part of that story?” Bitty’s voice wavers.

“What?” Kent rasps.

“Nick loved Gatsby, and no one seemed to care.” He shoves another tray into the oven, slams the door shut and bolts towards the downstairs bathroom.

Kent mechanically gets up, sets the timer and walks to the green couch. He stares at the television blankly. Jack wonders briefly if Kent’s disassociating. But he’s a coward and sometimes he feels like he cares too much about other people getting upset. They don’t expect him to fix the situation, so he won’t. He retreats to his room, a few cookies in hand.

Jack repeats what Kent said about happiness, delusions, and moving on in class. He mentions the point Bitty made later. It’s the one of the better contributions Jack’s made to the class. His professor says as much.

He doesn’t understand why the pride in her eyes makes him think he’s missed the point entirely.

_/.\\_

It happens again a few weeks later. He finds Kent on the green couch, watching _Project Runway_ reruns with Lardo.

“You know each other,” he states with disbelief.

“Yup,” they both answer.

“Of course,” he deadpans.

“Is it true you know Tim Gunn?” Lardo demands, “because I think Kent’s full of shit.”

Kent snorts, “Zimms, please tell your misinformed manager here that Bad Bob’s got the hockey connections but Alicia knows every fucking celebrity who matters.”

“Don’t exaggerate,” he reprimands lightly. “Uncle Tim comes around at least a few times a year.”

“Told you!” Kent shouts at Lardo.

“Fuck fine,” she pulls a dollar out of her back pocket, handing it to Kent.  

“Why would you bet on that?” Jack scowls at them.  

Lardo shrugs, “why does anyone do anything?”

“Because conning a high person is too fucking easy,” Kent smirks.

“You’re high?” Jack crosses his arms accusingly, directing his annoyance at Kent.

“Nope, just me,” Lardo twirls her finger in the air. “I’m coming down, though. Someone said a new batch would be ready by now.”

“And I told y’all that if you wanted me to partake that I’d have to finish my other baking first.” Bitty shouts from the kitchen.

“And are you?” Lardo demands.

“Hold your horses, I need to pack them away so we don’t eat them.”

“You have a game tomorrow. You’re not getting high,” Jack commands Kent.

“Of course, not,” Kent gawks. “Don’t act like I don’t take my job seriously.”

“Anyway,” Lardo interrupts loudly.

“Right, Dicky said you need to watch _Singing in the Rain_ for class,” Kent waggles his eyebrows.

“Unfortunately,” Jack sighs.

“Shut your mouth Jack Laurent Zimmermann,” Bitty storms into the living with a plate of brownies. “Now, would you like some company and color commentary for your paper?”

Sometimes Jack regrets showing Bittle his syllabus. Shitty joins them sometime later, lying naked on the rug in front of the television.

They’re watching the number “Good Morning” when Lardo comments, “thank fuck Cosmo doesn’t end up with Lina.”

“Ew side characters being forced together for the sake of policing heteronormativity,” Shitty groans.

“They look so cute together,” Bitty adds.

“Cosmo and Lina?” Kent shoots him a quizzical frown.

“No,” Bitty rolls his eyes. “Don, Kathy, and Cosmo. Why do couples have to be two?”

Jack snorts, “because that’s what the word couple means.”

“Bullshit Jacques,” Shitty rolls over to flip him off, flashing everyone who cared to look. “That is the patriarchy feeding you bullshit about monogamy. Kathy and Don didn’t have to choose each other over Cosmo. If they wanted to be with him, and he reciprocated, they could’ve been together.”

“I like that,” Bittle comments quietly. “It sounds…easier.”

“No,” Kent protests. “It still sounds like love, messy as fuck. Just…you don’t have to cut people out because life doesn’t have to be defined in a binary. Right, Shits?”

“Exacta Mundo, Kenny Ken Kent,” Shitty gives him a thumb’s up. “Brah, is that the point of watching this movie? To talk about Cosmo’s roll in dismantling relationship norms?”

Jack shrugs, “I guess.”

“They’re so cute together,” Eric babbles again (mostly to himself, but Jack catches him leaning into Kent out of the corner of his eye). “Don and Cosmo have this history together, and they’ve built careers for themselves. Then Kathy comes in and she doesn’t split them a part. No sir, she slips right in. Like a glove to a hand.”

“What do you call it?” Jack asks Shitty.  “This…things they’re in.”

“Polyamory, bro,” Lardo supplies. “Or like, a polyamorous relationship. There’s more than one way to do it, but like, they’re probably a triad or some shit like that.”

“Right you are Lardo,” Shitty preens. “Because clearly Don and Cosmo dig each other, Don and Kathy end up together canonically, and Cosmo and Kathy have this awesome thing going. And if Cosmo and Kathy don’t wanna date, it’s chill cause they’d be fucking ‘swawesome metamours.”  

“What in fuck’s name is that,” Kent sinks further into the couch.

“Partner of a partner?” Bitty guesses.  

Shitty nods with pride. On screen, Gene Kelly is dancing with his raincoat.

“What the fuck,” Jack scowls. “Why is this even happening?”

“When you gotta dance,” Kent grins wolfishly.

“You gotta dance!” Eric laughs so hard, he topples onto Kent.

Jack pays enough attention to the rest of the film to write his reflection paper afterwards. He takes down some notes, personal thoughts, and stoned comment as they come. When he’s sure everyone’s focused on the movie, he looks over at Bitty and Kenny. Bitty’s not much shorter then Kent. Regardless, he’s buried under one of Kent’s arms, half asleep. They fit so well together. When Kent shows up like this, or even when he sees Bits on his phone, Jack forgets that they’re not a couple. Jack thinks about Bitty’s phrasing for days afterward, _slips in right between_.

_/.\\_

Moments of bliss are few and short lived. Although SMH is doing great in the post-season, Jack knew something was bound to come up. This time, it was in the form of ESPN talking trash about him, again.

This time it was something along the lines of _an NCAA Championship won’t be a cure-all to Jack Zimmermann’s frankly derailed professional hockey career…pulls a total Lindsey Lohan…I don’t want Bob Zimmermann Lite._

As if he wasn’t already worried enough about life after Samwell.

 “Jack please,” Bittle shouts a few seconds after Jack had slammed the front door of the Haus. “Let’s talk this through.”

“Bittle, just stop,” he pleads.  The last thing he needs right now is someone else’s emotions to deal with, “stop pretending that you care about me for five fucking seconds. I want to be left alone.”

“Bless your heart.”

Jack turns around, Bitty’s lips are curled into a sneer. His arms are crossed, but he doesn’t seem deterred. Fired up is more like it.

“Why do you keep saying that?” Jack growls. He trudges up the stairs, he flops down on his bed but makes no attempt to kick Bittle out.

“Because ‘fuck you’ burns bridges,” Bitty snaps. “‘Bless your heart’ means I know you’re your own person. There’s nothing I can do about that.”

“See it’s things like that,” Jack pinches the bridge of his nose. “You’re so infuriating.”

“Tell me what happened.”

“What?”

Jack rolls over to face Bitty who’s shifting awkwardly. Bitty clenches his fists, “tell me what the fuck happened before the draft.”

“What?”

“You heard me,” his voice is soft but harsh. “This is what you want don’t you? Someone to understand? Someone to give a fuck enough to push back? Because that’s who you are isn’t it, Jack? You want all the heavy lifting done for you.”

“You don’t know anything about me,” Jack sneers.

Bitty glares, “I know that your favorite color is green because you think that Kent’s only himself when he has green eyes. Your favorite jelly flavor is grape. You listen to one band at a time for your runs. This month it’s The Black Keys. You say your favorite movie is _Saving Private Ryan_ but it’s actually _The_ _Rocky Horror Picture Show_. And you only act like this—” he gestures wildly. “When your anxiety is acting up. You’d think by now that you’d realize I was chasing you down to help.” 

Bitty sighs. His face morphs from rage to defeat. “We’ve been friends, best friends even, for months. Y’all don’t think I care about you enough to know when something’s really bothering you? Fine, be that way. But don’t you think that if I wanted to hear some sordid gossip I’d ask Kenny what he thinks happened? I already know his story; don’t you think you deserve to tell yours?”

Jack’s gut reaction is to tell him no and fuck off. But he’s not eighteen anymore, and Bittle’s right. He should know how to communicate more. Even if it’s difficult, it’s necessary.

“It was a mistake,” he starts off. “My meds were prescribed to me, and I got refills from my doctor. I never went to therapy before the draft. It was a band-aid solution at best. Kenny told me to stop drinking but I didn’t. Kenny told me to slow down but I couldn’t. The only time I was sober during the last year of the Q was when we were on ice.

“Do you know how that feels? Knowing that the only reason you’re alive is because your best friend was dumb enough to fall in love with you? It was mortifying and eye opening. I couldn’t face him, or my father. Who would want someone as broken as me?” Jack looks up at the ceiling, smirking sadly.

“You don’t know that,” Bitty curses under his breath.

“I know that now,” Jack admits. “But it’s just as well. He didn’t need a recovering addict tagging along on his career.”

“Well no, that’d be a little redundant all things considered.”

Jack and Bitty turn around, Kent’s leaning against the doorframe.

“Shits called me saying I might need to break you two up,” he explains flatly.

“You don’t need to be here,” Jack asserts, sitting up.

“No, I never do,” Kent bites his lip. “But seeing where this conversation turned you might need a mediator. I think I finally get Bitty’s side and why he’s all worked up.”

Jack and Bitty look at him expectantly.

“It’s humiliating waking up in a hospital like that,” Kent sighs. “You’re mad at yourself for almost dying, and the world for being shitty. Fuck, you were probably mad about being rescued for a hot second. Because did they really care if you lived? But it’s worse when you’re on the other side. And you will never know what that feels like, Zimms.

“Dicky works through his anxiety by fixings things or baking. I know talking aggravates you if you’re not in the mood, but sometimes you come off too strong. And Dicky? Not everyone wants to talk through their shit right away. It’s ok to let people cool off first. But you were probably right to follow Jack to make sure he wasn’t doing anything stupid.” 

Kent takes a deep breath, addressing Eric. “I’m sorry I put you through that. I’m not sorry I told you what happened, but I’m sorry I made you feel like your feelings were insignificant. You had every right to worry about me.”

Bitty nods, slumping against Jack’s desk chair. “I’m sorry if I’ve been over-bearing lately. I lost you once, and now that I have you back…well, it hurts to think how alone you’ve been. I never want you to feel like you can’t come to me with your problems. You…you don’t have to be ok for my sake. Same goes for you, Jack.”

Jack stays quiet.

“Zimms, you don’t have to talk about why you’re upset, but we’re here ok?”

“What do you think happened Kent?”

“Well Shitty said ESPN,” he grunts. “I don’t have to be a psychic to guess what they said.”

Jack nods slowly. He feels the tension in his spine creeping back up.  

“Say it,” Kent whispers. “It’ll make you feel better.”

Jack’s resolve hardens. “I’m so fed up with people pretending they know anything about me. I’m tired of strangers making up theories or predictions for my life. And I’m sick of people pretending to be my friends because of who they think I am.”

A beat of silence, then two. Jack glances at Bitty’s unreadable expression. Kent’s taken to pacing. A minute passes like this, eerily.

“Fuck you,” Kent finally erupts. “I can’t believe we’re back to this shit again. I thought we were past this.”

“Kenny” Jack protests.

“No shut up,” he holds up a hand. “My mom always said ‘the key to a happy relationship is to never keep count’. Don’t make it a numbers game, don’t think about all the shit that you do for someone that they don’t do for you. But seriously, fuck you. Your anxiety wasn’t an excuse to use me.”

Jack is stunned. Kent pushes forward.

“I’m so over the way I have to talk about you to literally anyone else. You aren’t some chummy teammate from high school. And I wasn’t your charity case that you had to buy to get a single fucking friend. Fuck that, you never said it but we were together. I never got to enjoy that you know? There was always a reason to be careful, or to bail on me when things got rough. Everything was more important than me and it fucked with my feelings.”

“I never asked you to love me,” Jack shouts irritably.

“Maybe you didn’t,” Kent wheezes. “But you sure as fuck had no problem stuffing my hand down your pants or scaring the fuck out of me when I told you to slow down on your fucking meds.”

Kent whips out his inhaler. Three years ago, this act would’ve shut Jack up. Not today.

“Fuck you, you’re not perfect either. You pulled reckless stunts all the time for what? Attention? Some fucked up version of love? We’re not kids anymore, Kent. You can’t break things and expect me to fix it.”

“I never asked you to fix me!”

“That’s not what I said,” Jack blushes angrily.

“It’s what you meant,” Kent says through clenched teeth. “I’m still the same fucked up kid that you have to polish into something presentable huh?”

Jack cradles his head in his hands. “What do you want me to say?”

“Nothing that you wouldn’t say on your own,” and Jack believes that’s the first time Kent’s ever been completely honest with himself. “We’re not seventeen anymore, Jack. You don’t have to do anything you’re uncomfortable with. But you have no right to treat me like I’m your enemy when you need something to channel your anxiety into. Either we’re friends or not, I…I don’t know if I can deal with this anymore.”

Jack balks at him, virtually forgetting Bitty’s presence. “This what?”

“This form of personal punishment I’ve submitted myself to. Everything shouldn’t be on your terms. You’re important, Jack,” Kent licks his lips nervously. “But you’re not the only one who deals with shit like yours.”

Kent directs his attention back to Bitty, “tell him, or don’t. I don’t know if I care. I’m gonna go finds Shits and Lardo.” With that, Kent walks away.

“Tell me what,” Jack echoes half-heartedly.

“He’s an alcoholic. He was hospitalized for alcohol poisoning back in 2010. And he is still whole-heartedly convinced that he should’ve died alone in a gutter somewhere.” Bitty stares at his own lap intently. “He started going to therapy a few weeks ago, finally.”

The news hits him like a freight train. He thought he’d built walls tall enough to stop caring about Kent. Part of him thinks this is for the best. Who knows what he would’ve done if he’d gotten a call like Kent must have, being told your first love nearly died drowning their sorrows away.   _Shit like yours_ , Jack recalls. Even after all this time, Kenny still put Jack first.

“Jack, it’s your life but…” Bitty’s voice drifts back into his ear. “I need you to start using that head of yours for something other than hockey. You have people who care about you. And if we’re not enough or we’re bad for you, go ahead and move on. But if there’s even an ounce of you that believes we’ll be there for you no matter what—I need you to listen to that.” 

_/.\\_

Kent texts him one day in April. It’s the first time he’s reached out, by himself, to Jack in years.

Kent: Can we talk?

Jack: About what?

Kent: Everything?

Jack snorts as he asses the message.  

Jack: Specific

Kent: Did Jack Zimmermann just chirp me?

Jack: You consider that a chirp, eh?

Kent: ohmigod

Jack:?

Kent: I’m gonna just gonna lie here a while

Kent: All this adulting must have gone to my brain

Jack rolls his eyes and decides to call Kent himself.

 “You called?” He hears Kent’s apprehension, and the sound of _America’s Next Top Model_ on in the background.  “You hate calling,” the words feel like an omen. Jack hopes he isn’t making a mistake.

Jack takes a deep breath, steadying himself. “You hate texting, go figure.”

“True,” Kent laughs weakly.

“What’s this about?”

“I…acknowledge that we’ve both done some stuff we probably regret. Specifically, towards each other,” Kent recites. Jack wonders if he has note cards out. Jack knows for a fact that he picked it up from Bittle, not the other way around.

“Alright…”

“I…this is going to sound stupid,” Kent sighs. Jack can imagine him burying his head in his hands—avoiding confrontation by ignoring it as best as possible.

“I’m sure it’s not stupid, Kenny,” Jack coaxes. “Now c’mon. Better now than never, eh?”

“Look, Bitty…kinda gave me an idea a few months back. While he was pissed at me,” Kent’s train of thought drops off.

“Go on,” Jack prompts. He gets up from his bed and paces, slowly, across his room.

“Let’s have a conversation.”

Jack almost wishes he’d put the phone on video call so he could glare at Kenny. “I don’t understand.”

“Look, hang up,” Kent says abruptly.

“Excuse me?”

“I keep thinking about the things I should’ve said. And fuck, there’s a lot.”

“Kenny,” Jack warns.

“Let me finish,” Kent whines. “I know I can’t change the past, Zimms. But we owe it to each other to sift through that shit, together.”

Jack purses his lips. “I’m listening,” he decides.

“I…the last day I really wanted to tell you something. Before…everything, was May 5th.”

“Isn’t that…?”

“So I was thinking…” Kent interrupts. “I’ll call you, and we pretend like it’s May 5th 2009\. You don’t know the future. Just…react to what’s happening in that moment.” He pauses before amending, “I wanna have _that_ conversation with you.”

“Fine,” Jack hangs up unceremoniously. He pretends to not enjoy hanging up on that asinine conversation. His phone lights up a few seconds later.  “Hello?” He tries to sound pleasant.

“Hey Zimms,” Kent’s voice is cheery yet meek. He sounds like he used to after a particularly bad fight when they were in the Q. “Having fun up there with your parents?”

“I guess,” Jack shrugs. He tries to remember what that day was like. “It’s kinda boring here without you,” he surmises.

Kent chuckles, Jack remember what it was like to be young and in love. “Same, babe.”

“Kenny, why are you calling?”

“What do you mean?”

“You don’t call without a reason,” Jack snaps. He facepalms. They aren’t teenagers, and he has no reason to lash out at Kent. He takes another approach. “I’m worried about you. What’s wrong?”

“It’s my best friend’s birthday and…I don’t know, Zimms. I feel down. I feel like more of a burden than normal.”

“I thought I was your best friend,” he chirps lightly.

Kent laughs, and the tension in Jack’s lungs seeps out. “You are, but you’re so much more y’know? And Dicky…he’s one of a kind. He’s always been there for me. And I’ve just let him down again this year.”

“So call him,” Jack concludes. He wonders if he’d known about Bitty back then what would he have done? Hopefully pushed Kent to stay in touch. More than likely, Jack would’ve used their closeness against Kent.

Jack is thankful, not for the first time, that Eric wasn’t around during those days.

“Nah, he’s better off without me,” Kent volleys as if it’s a joke. They both know better. “Speaking of which, that’s what I need to talk to you about.”

“Ok.”

“Look Zimms,” Kent takes an audible breath. “I’m seriously scared for this draft.”

“Why? You’ll be a first round pick for sure,” Kent always talked down his anxiety when they talked about the draft. But then again, Jack didn’t know in those days about Kent’s anxiety.

“But that’s just it,” he urges. “Am I gonna get picked for me? Or for someone who hopes I’m the beta version of you?”

Jack had never thought of it like that.

“Kenny that’s not fair,” Jack grimaces, “to you or to me.”

“I know,” Kent pouts. “Well I know that _now_. I’ve just…spent so long trying to keep everything together. I think I forgot what it’s like to be happy.”

Jack tsks.

“Truth be told, I think I’ve let you down a lot along the way,” Kent admits.

“What?” Jack flinches at the force of his voice. “Of course, not, Kenny…you’re one of the most important people in my life. You do so much for me.”

“Do I?” Kent quickly discards the question in favor of rambling. “Shit, Zimms, I…I feel like I’m going to lose you. No matter what I do. Either I lose you to the NHL or to my incompetence or to your fucking pills. And that’s why I’m scared shitless. I’d rather lose you to something you love than something that hurts you.”

“I…didn’t think you noticed.”

Kenny’s laugh this time is cold, hollow. “You’re not the only one with anxiety y ‘know? I’m sorry it took me so long to say anything. And even longer to learn how to fucking deal with it.” 

Jack thinks about the parties, and the constant drinking. He thinks about how often Kent had to reach for his inhaler after their fights. Jack thinks about the time Kent left his inhaler on Jack’s nightstand after storming out. Kent didn’t come to practice for two days after that. He’d never bothered to ask Kent what had happened. Jack pales.

 “It’s ok,” Kent placates softly, reading Jack’s mind. “I knew we couldn’t last forever, I just wasn’t ready to admit it. It hurts more than you’ll ever know. But…I think I’m gonna be ok. Eventually.”

“What are you saying?” What was the point of dealing with all of this now?

“I, Kent Virgil Parson, being of sound mind and body, do hereby release you, Jack Laurent Zimmermann from all boyfriend duties on this the 5th of May 2009.” Kenny clears his throat harshly. “I’ll always be here for you, Jack. I just can’t pretend what we have is…healthy. Not right now, at least.”

“Is this about the parties?” Jack’s honestly trying to react to what he remembers about those days, “I told you I’d try harder—”

“Fuck, no,” Kenny stops him. “I hate those parties as much as you do,” he snorts.

“Really?” Jack groans helplessly. “I thought…”   _They were important to you? You were happy? We were ok?_

“Yea, I guess I thought the same about you,” Kent responds.

“Crisse, Kent,” he sighs. “Maybe if I—”

“Don’t,” Kenny barks. “I should’ve communicated more with you. Been more upfront instead of using my love as a bargaining tool. But if you need anything, I mean anything, I’ll always be here for you. Got it?”

“Yeah…For what it’s worth…thanks, Kent, for looking out for me.”

“Friends?”

Jack smiles for the first time in months. “Yea…always.”

“See you around, Jack,” he hangs up without any further explanation.

Jack gets a text ten minutes later.

Kent: So who’s getting their best pal tickets to the first round of their playoffs?

Jack: You?

Kent: A little Bitty told me you made it to the Frozen Four.

Jack: Buy that ticket yourself, millionaire.

Kent: Fineeeeeeeee

Kent: So…Thursday?

Kent: If that’s ok with you? Let me know if I’m overstepping.

Jack takes a deep breath. Is this good? It feels…different than any interaction they’ve had before. If there’s a dull ache in his chest, Jack pushes it aside as grief for something long dead. This man texting him is an enigma and far kinder than he could ever hope for in a friend.

Jack:  I’ll get you something up close, eh?

Kent: Thanks, pal.

Jack: Sure, bud.

_/.\\_

For his final project, Jack is assigned to critically analyze a cultural piece in recent history. He needs to demonstrate how the work enforces heteronormativity and then discuss where there’s room to subvert it. He writes a fifteen-page paper on _Friends_. What is overtly, and aggressively, heteronormative about Ross and Rachel’s love story. He argues that hints of polyamory come up throughout the show, mainly as jokes. He writes about Chandler’s introduction to polyamory and proposes an alternative story arc where Chandler, Ross and Rachel could’ve been together. He outlines the story from seasons one to three and even rehashes a scene from “The One with the Two Parties” where Rachel goes to both Ross and Chandler for support.

“Why only three seasons?” his professor inquires during his final review.

“For the sake of brevity, I had to limit myself,” he explains. “I wanted to illustrate that healthy communication and compromise was attainable during the climax of Ross and Rachel’s relationship.”

“Have you thought of what occurred after these three seasons?”

“Yes,” he replies simply. Day dreaming about it had calmed him more during playoffs than he cared to admit.

“Would you mind sharing a bit?”

“Ross falls in love with Emily. He proposes to her but when she finds out about his relationship, she confesses that she’s strictly monogamous. It sets his relationship back with Rachel and Chandler because he does everything he accused Rachel of when Mark was her coworker. Chandler falls in love with Kathy, but communicates with Joey about it. They get into a disagreement but Kathy leaves on her own anyway. No cheating is involved in this version.

“Chandler clings to Rachel as Ross pushes them away. Rachel considers asking Joshua out but realizes it would be for the wrong reasons. Ross ‘comes back’ when Emily dumps him and he realizes that even when you can have multiple partners, that doesn’t make polyamory necessarily easier. They mend their relationship in season five. Season six they move in together and I think that’s when Rachel gets pregnant.”

“Why?”

“Because Chandler was a good father and wanted to quit his job for years. Ross and Rachel were both happy in their careers. It would’ve been great representation of queer parenthood.”

“Wouldn’t that detract from the comedy?” a classmate, Anne? asks.

“I don’t think so,” Jack shrugs. “Life’s funny as it is.”

Jack gets a good grade in the course. It’s certainly higher than he’d anticipated. He stores the annotated final paper away in his desk for another day. Someday, he thinks, expressing his opinions on polyamory will come in handy. A part of him still hates stories and fiction in general. But as his therapist always tells him, every story has a purpose.

He’s still trying to figure out what Kenny coming back into his life means.  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Most of this chapter didn't exist a week ago. But I needed to give Jack his own story arc. And I already had some shit worked out for later about Jack and his relationship to stories. If you can't tell by this chapter, I'm polyamorous and was a film major in college. 
> 
> I just wanted to say that I can't thank you guys enough for your support. The response to this fic has been overwhelmingly awesome. 
> 
> Chapter title - 7 by Catfish and the Bottleman


	8. Some Boys

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Apparently,” Jack grunts as he lifts the large cardboard box in his hands a little higher. “Bittle runs an illegal pastry ring for the Falconers. Did you know about this?”
> 
> “Well now I know he’s getting paid for it,” Kent laughs harder. “Nate’s been fuming about Bits ever since I got traded.”

_Six minutes left in the second period of the 2014 Frozen Four finals. The score is currently tied at one. Olander loses the puck. It’s recovered by Birkholtz who flicks it past Browning to Oluransi. Oluransi passes it to Knight who pushes it past neutral ice._

_/.\\_

_Less than 90 seconds for this period. Zimmermann takes the face off. He passes it to Knight. He’s pulling it free across to Bittle. Bittle takes the shot!_

_Oh, Miller came in too late with that check. He collided with Bittle after the fact. Bittle appears to be injured. It seems he’ll be able to get up._

Kent gets up from his seat, making eye contact with Jack once Bitty’s off the ice. Kent cocks his head in the direction of the locker rooms, Jack nods seriously. A time out is called before Holster can drop gloves.

“Alright gentlemen, Bittle’s in good hands and we can’t let the goal he just made go to waste…” Kent hears Coach Hall say as leaves the rink.

_/.\\_

“It’s definitely dislocated,” explains the trainer. “We’ll reset that, splint it, and you’ll be good for the trip home.”

“What about the game?” Bitty asks hurriedly. He had to get back out there for his team, for Jack.

Coach Murray clears his throat, “it’s fine, Bittle, we’re a point ahead thanks to you.”

“Can I play on Saturday? wait,” Bitty knocks on trainer’s table. He wasn’t one to tempt fate.

“Sorry Bittle, that shoulder will take three weeks to heal, minimum,” the trainer informs him.

Before Bitty can protest, a loud shout comes from outside the door.

“Look,” a familiar voice barks, “if you won’t let a two-time Stanley Cup champ in, then take this fucking phone and listen to the injured player’s goddamn mother.”

Bitty sighs, “Coach, you better open that door before Kent blows a gasket.”

Murray looks bemused, he opens the door and pops his head out. “Patricia it’s fine.” He informs the woman guarding the door.

Kent politely excuses himself around Coach Murray before rushing to Bitty.

“I’m proud so proud of you,” he blurts. “Fuck, not about landing like you did. That goal was beautiful, and so was how you handled that check.” Kent pales slightly, lifting his phone back to his ear. “Mama he’s fine. Yes, you can talk to him.”

“We’re about to reset his shoulder,” the trainer glares at Kent.

“It’s alright,” Bitty assures her. “I’ll be better off talking to my mother than holdin’ anyone’s hand. Hey Mama.”

“Don’t you ‘hey mama’ me, Eric Richard Bittle,” she chides. “Are you alright? Kenny said you took a fall.”

“It was just a little check, Mama,” he ignores Kent’s eye rolling. “No concussion, they just gotta fix my shoulder.”

“Separated or Dislocated?”

“Dislocated,” he murmurs.

“Thank you, Jesus,” she sighs. “Alright, baby. I won’t make you listen to any more of my nattering.”

“I love your nattering,” he admits.

He can hear Mama’s warm laughter, it ebbs some of the residual tremors in his body. “Always the charmer. Do you need us to come up there? We can’t get a flight until tomorrow at the earliest but…”

“No, it’s alright,” Bitty assures her. “Kenny’s here and Jack will help if we need it.”

“Bless his heart,” Suzanne tsks. “Say hi to that boy from me.”

“Yes ma’am.”

“And if you need anything? Ask me or Kenny, promise?”

 “Cross my heart,” he swears.

“Now pass me back to Kent.”

Bitty complies. Though Kent looks unsure of taking the call, he does so anyway.

“Hello? Uh huh…sure. Yes ma’am.” Kent hangs up without further ado.

“What’d she sa—ah!” Bitty yelps when his shoulder is reset.

“There you go,” the trainer meticulously fastens his splint then puts cold pack on the dislocation site “We’ll get you some ibuprofen for the swelling to supplement the ice. Hang tight.”

Kent stares impatiently until she leaves. Coach Murray says something about getting back to the rink if they have it covered. Kent waves him to go.

“So how are you really?” Kenny frowns.

“I’m…” not fine he thinks. He can’t expect Kent to express his feelings if Bitty can’t do the same for him.  “Better than I expected, worse that I could be if I hadn’t gotten checked.”

“I’m glad you said that. Ok not glad but—”

“Kenny…” Bitty warns in his ‘don’t toy with me’ voice.

Kent nods somberly. He pops earbuds into his phone, selects a playlist and passes it to Bitty. He reaches into backpack while Bitty takes a deep breath. He scrolls through Kent’s playlist. It’s a lot of Beyoncé but there’s some Sia, TLC, Destiny’s Child, Rihanna and Nicki Minaj.  Kent hands him a strawberry pb&j sandwich.

“Did y ’all think I was gonna get hurt?” Bitty jokes.

“I figured you made sandwiches already but, this seemed like a good post-game treat.” Kent grins playfully before adding, “don’t worry, I made one for your fearless leader. So, don’t flatter yourself too much.”

Bitty laughs shakily. He knows the music will help, but he was mostly putting on a brave front for Coach Murray. He got checked, and he’s ok…kinda. It feels like a victory, but he also knows he’s two seconds from spiraling.

“Is Señor Bun in the locker room?” Kent takes him out of his musings.

“In my gym bag,” Bitty admits quietly.

“I’ll go grab him,” Kent jogs out of the room. He returns with Señor Bun triumphantly tucked under his arm.

Bitty happily snatches Señor Bun from Kenny’s hands. He blushes, feeling ashamed. On a normal day, he’d rather take a hug from Kent than dragging out his Bun. “Sorry…you know I’m normally a hugger…”

“It’s ok,” Kent promises. “You took a nasty check. I get it.”

Bitty takes a few minutes to get his bearing. Kent gives him space, but reminds how to breathe properly.  Bitty works his way into making physical contact with Kent.

“Don’t push yourself too hard,” Kent scolds him.

“And what if I wake up tomorrow and it’s worse?” Bitty snaps. “Y’all don’t know how long it took to hug Mama after the closet incident.”

“Ok,” Kenny concedes. “But I’m not gonna let you force yourself into a panic attack.”

“Noted,” Bitty sighs.

Tentatively, Kent sits next to Bitty who hands him one of the earbuds. They scroll through Kent’s twitter feed as they slowly scoot closer together.  They don’t notice the game’s over until Jack’s forcing the door of the trainer’s room wide open.

_/.\\_

He’d been on edge since Bittle got checked. It was his fault, he knew that. He got too ambitious with the play.

“Brah, are you alright?” Shitty whispers to him before the start of the third period.

“What do you think?” Jack retorts with little bite.

“Dude it wasn’t your fault,” Shitty had a penchant for projecting Jack’s train of thought.

“Isn’t it? I’m the captain. He got checked because of my play.”

“But it worked,” Shitty insists. “And Bits knows the risks of playing hockey. Kent’s probably going alpha-douche on someone right now making sure Bitty’s getting taken care of.”

“I guess,” Jack grimaces. “It’s just…Bittle. He never asked for the shit I gave him or Kent. He trusted me. How can I—”

“Look Jack,” Lardo cuts in, “you’re a better player with Bitty. But dude, you’re a better captain with Kent around too.”

“Meaning?”

“You got this,” she punches his shoulder encouragingly. “Just ‘cuz they aren’t on the ice with you doesn’t mean they aren’t with you. And they’re not the only ones who got your back ok?”

“Ok.”

So, he goes out there to do what he does best. They win semifinals by two points. He goes in for a quick celly with the team before he hustles to take his skates and pads off. He barely notices how his pace picks up until he's practically slamming into the trainers’ room’s door.

“Are you trying to cause property damage?” Kent berates him.

Jack ignores him in favor of inspecting Bitty who seems fine…ish.

Kent nudges Bitty’s good shoulder softly, grabbing his attention. Bitty looks over at the other blond.

“Zimms is here,” Kent gestures towards Jack.

Bitty perks up when he processes what Kent is saying, “oh, hi Jack.”

Jack runs a hand through hair. “Bits, I’m sorry,” he sighs.

“For what?” Bitty and Kent ask simultaneously.

He rolls his eyes. Those two were really on their own wavelength, “for not having your back. I should have been there.”

“Now Jack,” Bitty lectures indignantly. “As much as I appreciate your captain sense of responsibility, I’m an adult. I knew I’d get checked eventually. Besides,” he gestures to Kent. “If it weren’t for you two coaching me all year, I would be a lot worse for wear. So, thank you for having my back.”

“You’re welcome?” Jack feels the tips of his ears heat up.

Bitty jabs Kent in the ribs, causing Jack to chuckle.

“Ow!” Kenny yelps. “Some of us still have a season y’know?”

“Aren’t you forgetting something?” Bitty prompts through his teeth, eyes flickering to Jack.

Kent mutters “right…” under his breath and grabs his backpack. He tosses Jack a sandwich bag. It’s wrapped in a paper towel with a little sticky note on it.

_You’re doing great_

He takes a bite, dumbfounded. “Apple?”

“Well you like apple pie,” Kent reasons. “I’ll take it back if it’s not to his majesty’s standards.”

“Don’t you dare,” Jack threatens as he finishes it slowly.

“Ever wonder why he eats by himself,” Kent chirps.

“Hush you,” Bitty pokes him. “Jack how are you feeling?”

He hesitates for a moment, “I’m just glad that you’re ok.” Which is true. At some point, the win was less important that finishing the game strong and making sure Bitty was still in one piece.  

“Well that’s a nice deflection,” Kent pats the empty space next to him. “C’mon, I’ve been dying to show you _Drunk History_.”

Jack awkwardly walks to trainer’s table.

“You can sit next to Dicky if you want,” Kent assures him. Because that’s what Kent does now. Even when he swears he’s done playing second fiddle, he makes it his mission to let Jack be comfortable. Instead of answering, Jack sits down next to Kent.

Kent puts on a video. Bitty leans into him as Kent puts the volume up. A calm quiet settles over them. Some clips later, Jack can’t recall how many (the videos are both horrifying and entertaining to him) he hears the door open.

“Bits, tell these guys that you’re ok,” Lardo keeps Shitty, Ransom, and Holster from barging into the room

“Huh?” He looks up from Kent’s phone. “I’m alright, my shoulder was dislocated but the trainer popped it back in.”

“Only you would make an injury sound like nothing,” Kent chirps. “No wait, you would too.” He flicks Jack on the temple.

“Ow?” Jack grins sheepishly.

“Hey Shitty,” Kent beckons without breaking eye contact with Jack.

“Yeah?”

“When was the last time home boy here got hurt and said ‘I’m fine’?”

“I wanna say two months ago,” Shitty concludes.

“There you have it,” Kent deliberates. He then leans over to sniff Jack, “you need a shower.”

“Thanks,” Jack deadpans. “Bittle, you need to get out of that gear.”

Bitty looks like a deer caught in headlights. He doesn’t look like he’s ready to deal with people. Right, he’s probably still shaken from the check. Jack shouldn’t expect anything less.

“C’mon,” Kent hops off table, offering Bitty a hand. “You don’t have to take a shower, but you need deodorant.”

“Six percent more manners, sir,” Bitty rebukes Kent as he helps him down.

“Would you kindly follow me to the locker room so I can assist you in changing?” Kenny offers with a smirk; his Georgia drawl being laid on thick bowing graciously.

Jack tries to remember the last time he saw Kent this relaxed, himself. He smiles sadly at that accent he never got to hear outside of early morning showers on roadies. Jack would be splayed out on one of their beds, taking a few extra minutes to roll out of bed on those days. Because life was too short and Kenny had the voice of an angel, it helped him forget everything for a minute.

“You’re doing that on purpose,” Bitty accuses Kent.

“Who me? Why I would never,” Kent smirks innocently.

Jack’s in front of them, laughing, as they process out of the trainer’s room. Shitty, Lardo, Ransom, and Holster hang back.

_/.\\_  

“Was that weird for anyone else?” Ransom speculates. “Like we just saw something we weren’t supposed to?”

“Totally,” Holster parrots.

“Not really,” Lardo shrugs.

“I think this is what tripping on acid feels like,” Shitty speculates.

“You’ve never tried acid,” Lardo reminds him.

“I think I’ve unlocked the secrets of the universe while simultaneously knowing abso-fucking-lutely  nothing.”

“That’s just you, Shits,” she assuages him.

“You’re right,” he decides.

_/.\\_

Bitty sits with the team on Saturday. They lose to Union College by one in overtime. The team’s worse for wear. Bitty knows Jack’s disappointed, but he can’t seem to find him. He wants to text him, but thinks better of it. He calls Kenny instead.

He finds Jack twenty minutes later, in a forgotten crevice of the Wells Fargo Center. Jack’s facing the wall, crumbled against a wall. Bitty walks up quietly, he notices Jack shaking. Bitty thinks back to that morning on the couch practicing checks. He thinks of the safety and warmth Jack gave him. Without thinking, he slides down against the wall. Eric wraps an arm carefully around Jack’s shoulders and pulls him close. He can feel Jack’s quivering subside, small sobs replacing them gradually. Eric squeezes a little tighter, ignoring the dull throb of his other arm nestled in its sling.

“You did so great,” Eric murmurs. “We got so much farther than anyone thought we would, and I know that’s thanks in no small part to you.”

“But it wasn’t good enough,” Jack argues. “If I hadn’t let you get hurt maybe…”

“We would’ve lost anyway,” Bitty contends. “It wasn’t our year. We’ll get ‘em next year.”

“What if don’t? What if this is it. What if…”

“A wise person once told me ‘you can’t control the situation, but you can control your actions’,” Bitty does a terrible impression of Jack. It seems to cheer him up.

“Sounds like a smart guy,” Jack laughs a little too hard, nerves melting slightly.

“I like to think so,” Bitty laughs too. “Someone else had some good advice for you. If you’re up for it.”

“Of course,” he lets his head prop against the wall, breathing easier.

“He said to me ‘It’s ok to get knocked down. As long as you get back up for the right reasons.’” Bitty recounts encouragingly.

“Who said that?”

“My dad,” he reveals. “After I got picked on a few times growing up, and after we moved to Madison. And Kenny…when I told him we lost.”  Bitty goes quiet for a moment. “Kent also said ‘winning isn’t why we play. It’s why we get better. You’ve earned your place in the league quote a million times over unquote.’”

“I, thanks Bits.” Jack hugs him back.

“Any time, oh, and Jack?”

Jack looks back at him expectantly.

“Good game.”

_/.\\_

“City Morgue,” Kenny picks up on the fourth ring.

“Still not funny,” Jack berates him.

“Really? Not even a little?”

“It wasn’t in 2008,” he informs Kent. “I don’t know why you thought _that_ would change.”

“A guy can dream,” Kent pouts. “To what do I owe the pleasure, sir?”

“What are we doing for Bittle’s birthday?” He’s looking out the window of his room, keeping a watch out for Bittle. He really should’ve considered this sooner.

“We? Huh, I did not know there was a ‘we’,” he teases.  “I, on the other hand, have a great plan for Dicky’s rite of passage.”

“What right?” Jack demands, amused. “He’s turning twenty. Do you even know what you’re getting him?”

“Well I have a thought,” Kent leads.

“But?”

“But while I’m happy to provide financially for this endeavor, there are some kinks to work out…”

“Such as?”

“Keeping Shits, Rans and Holtzy out of the Haus for three hours next Monday.”

 Oh, Jack thinks. That’s what Kent is planning. “Consider it done.”

“Really?”

“Sure,” Jack agrees. Then he remembers the goal of this call, “and we say it’s from both of us?”

“You know there’s really useful marble shit for bakers?” Kent informs him tangentially. “I’m talking about rolling pins and pastry boards. Oh, or maybe some pie weights.”

Jack grabs a sticky note, jotting down the names of things, “anything else?”

“He’ll complain if he thinks it’s too much,” Kent reminds him.

“And what you’re getting him isn’t?”

“Fine, glass mixing bowls,” he relents. “And next time, ask sooner? That way it won’t look like you’re buying your guilt away.”

“It’s not guilt,” Jack hisses. “It’s gratitude. He spends all year putting up with our shit. It’s the least I could do.”

“And his shoulder had nothing to do with it?”

“Maybe it reminded me what’s important,” Jack admits.

“Good answer,” Kent grunts. “I’ll text you before I get there with the movers and when it’s all done.”

_/.\\_

“NOOOOOOO,” Shitty screams into the living room. His voice reverberates throughout the entire Haus.

“Shits, man, you know I’m sorry,” Kent apologizes, again.

“You bastard!”

“Shits, don’t be so dramatic,” Jack admonishes him.

“Shhh Benedict J-arnold,” Shitty makes a lip-zipping motion.

“Ouch, mildly inaccurate historical references,” Ransom observes.

“That’s a pissed Shitty,” Holster adds.

“What is all this commotion? I could hear y’all from do—” Bitty drops his grocery bags when he sees a new tan sectional in the living room. The green couch of death nowhere in sight.

“Surprise?” Kent rubs his neck awkwardly.

“Happy Birthday,” Jack adds.

“I-I…oh you boys,” Bitty lunges for Jack and Kent.

The act startles both of them, but Kenny’s quicker to respond—pulling them in tighter. He doesn’t know what the standard protocol is for group hugs, but Jack understands that it’s more than that. This is one of those moments when he’s baffled by the turns his life has taken. He’s not a teenager anymore. Yet here he is, back in Kenny’s arms. Although it’s not that simple. Because there’s years of history and things to work through—and now there’s Bitty too, between them.

A year ago, he wouldn’t have associated with someone as friendly and loving as Eric Bittle. But that’s why Jack needs him in his life. Because nothing’s left unspoken when it’s the three of them. Because they’ve taken the broken pieces of what they knew about each other and crafted something like home. Because where one person’s realism ends, another’s optimism begins—like a perpetual loop wheeling them forward. Like they were meant to fit together like this, always.

Jack can only hope he’s reading this right.

_/.\\_

The Falconers make it to the Eastern Conference finals that year. They lose to the Rangers in double overtime. It stings Kent more than he expected. He thinks it’s the crushing weight of letting his team down, replaying in his mind assists that could’ve gone better and shots that could’ve made it in. Snowy admonishes his pinched facial expression and Tater pulls him into a bone-crushing hug. Thirdy ruffles his hair and Marty tells him he played well out there “kiddo.” He calls Troy at least once a week to catch up on shit, but he thinks this is the team he was meant to be on. These are the guys that he’ll remember fondly long after he’s retired. And for the first time in years, Kent isn’t in a rush to do that just yet. Losing is a bittersweet feeling, they got so far in this season. Who knows what they’d do next year?

It’s the last week of May. In a moment of weakness (loneliness) he flew all three Bittles up to see the last few games. It was worth the inevitable chirping he’d get from Bitty (and most likely Lardo the next time she snapped him). He expects to find Mama, Coach and Bitty waiting for him in the parking lot after he’s washed up. He doesn’t expect Jack to be with them.

He isn’t sure what Jack’s going to do. Lecture him, hopefully. He’d take concern veiled as a lecture over distance and disappointment any day. He doesn’t anticipate Jack shaking his hand and pulling him into what Kent can only describe as a bro-hug.

“Good game, Kenny,” Jack smiles like he hasn’t seen in years. Happiness, Kent thinks, it looks good on him.  

Kent does not tear upon hearing those words. He may grip Jack a little harder before stepping back.

 “Yea, you too Zimms.”

_/.\\_

Kent spends a week in Houston with his dad and his dad’s husband. It’s nice, and long overdue, he concludes as he leaves. His mom and stepdad are in Cambodia for a few months but he remembers to send Falconers gear to their home for when they get back. Most of the summer is spent in Georgia, though. He doesn’t see Eric much because of his camp counselor job. They stay in touch with snaps, tweets, and texts. He becomes the cashier (and part-time human forklift) for Mama’s booth at the farmer’s market a few times a week.

“The simple life suits you baby boy,” she tells him one day.

“Yea?” he perks up.

“I’m sure retirement will suit you well,” “someday.”

“But now?”

“Sweetheart, what you need is some therapy and all the TLC we can give you.” She bites her lip before asking, “how’s that going by the way?”

“My therapist is pretty good, or I think she is,” he tells her. “We click and she makes it easy for me talk about…well me.”

“That’s wonderful honey,” Suzanne squeezes his shoulder kindly. “Remember, therapists aren’t one size fits all. It’s ok to switch to a new one if y’all ever need it.”

“Got it,” he swears.

Kent lifts weights in his free time and helps Coach with his training camps. He takes Instagram photos of Kit taking up all Bitty’s bed space and gets reprimanded for it (by Bitty) at every opportunity. He posts selfies with anyone who asks for them (usually because he’s attractive, but Georgia still has its hockey fans). He gets lip-sync videos from Bitty and pics from Jack. His heart aches a little when those texts make Halifax look within reach. He talks with Jack about everything and nothing; about training, movies, current events, random thoughts they have. Regardless, he’s amazed by what he can still learn about Jack Laurent Zimmermann. Kent feels like he’s gained a much-needed friend.

Kent basks in the careful shelter the summer provides. In the quiet moments, he doesn’t hate himself as much as he used to. It’s not about the people, but they help. Some mornings, he wakes up and likes what he sees in the mirror. He isn’t perfect, nor anywhere close to that smiling kid in the photographs on the Bittles’ mantle. If Kent were to describe himself (his real self) a year ago, it would have involved an obscure metaphor about a plate of glass cracked precisely down the middle.  Now that glass feels more like skin that’s scarred over like a surgical wound. Everything hurts less. He calls it a temporary win.

Break winds down just before Jack’s birthday. He helps Mama haul the rest of Dicky’s things to the Haus before heading back to Providence. Eric forces him to ‘give Jack your present yourself, dammit’.  Kent acts like a genuine replica WWII Pacific Theater bomber jacket is no big deal. He has a hard time suppressing a gasp when Jack mentions he has something for Kent.

“Happy Birthday,” Jack says proudly handing him a gift-wrapped bag.

“A ukulele?” Kent inspects the plastic strings carefully. “Thanks, I-I’m…confused actually.”

“You always said you wanted to learn how to play the guitar,” Jack reasons.

“But this is a ukulele,” Kent holds it up pointedly.

“It seemed easier to travel with,” Jack shrugs, “and it seemed to fit you.”

“Thanks,” he says dumbly. And because he’s incapable of leaving well enough alone, he asks, “still curious, how does it fit me?”

“It’s that thing you do,” Jack makes a circling motion with his hand, looking for the right word. “You know, when you dress badly on purpose and buy unnecessary things that only you like. And then you get pissy when it gets popular? What’s the word for it Bittle?”

“Oh my lord,” Bitty bursts out cackling.

Kent’s brain catches up a moment after Bitty’s does. “Wait, a hipster? You’re calling me a hipster.”

“That’s the word,” Jack’s grin broadens into a triumphant smirk.

“ _I’m_ a hipster,” Kent repeats with disbelief.  

“Yes,” Bitty and Jack insist.  

He hears Shitty laughing in the background and remembers to buy him a succulent next time he’s in town. He promptly combs through his closet when he gets back to Providence. Ultimately, he’s too lazy to wean down his collection of flannel shirts and leggings. So much for bringing the bolo tie back. He practices his ukulele at least three times a week and breaks into a smile whenever he sees it.

George comes to Kent one day in August while he’s weight lifting.

“Kenny, just the man I wanted to see.”  

“Yo boss man,” he salutes her, “to what do I owe this pleasure?”

“I need to pick your brain about something,” she starts carefully.

“I haven’t done the Time’s crossword yet if you’re asking for ten across,” he guesses, sitting up from the bench. “Guy already hit me up about that.”

“Not what I’m here for, but good to know,” she hums. “I need to ask about Jack Zimmermann.”

“What about him?”

“Management feels, and I agree, that we need to consider his potential very closely,” George explains.

“You wanna get the band back together?”

“In a manner of speaking, yes.” He wonders the amount of media training she went through to perpetually sound like a talk radio host.  “We’d be stupid not to think of the implications of reuniting the infamous Zimmermann-Parson duo. What I want to know is if this idea is feasible.”

“Ok two things, one, I don’t think either of us appreciate that name,” he keeps his tone as professional and even as possible.  “And b, who are you asking? Kent Parson the Stanley Cup winning ex-captain, or Kent Parson the guy.”

“Both,” she decides, apparently amused with his approach.

Kent sighs. “The press isn’t over-exaggerating when they say we had a sixth sense with each other. We were unstoppable on ice. PR would never be bored with the two of us together again.” Kent chuckles hesitantly, thinking about the sheer number of Falcs TV segments that could be just about Kent and Jack embarrassing each other.  “Do the risks outweigh the rewards? I don’t know…anymore.”

“Why,” George presses.

“We had some problems after the draft. Honestly, our…relationship, for lack of a better word, isn’t even the same as it was a year ago. It’s…different now. I think it’s good, great even. I…our dynamic is better now. I can’t begin to imagine how great we could play if we keep up how we are now,” he tries to suppress the excitement in his voice.

“What would you do in my position,” she redirects.

“First,” he holds up a finger, “I’d put my money where my mouth is and try Jack and me on the same line again. No point in negotiating with him if you can’t get the results you want.”

“Ok,” she nods understandingly, “and what about those problems you were referring to?”

“We suck at communicating off the ice,” Kent warns her. “We ended up hurting each other without someone mediating and if we can’t keep our shit together now? Boom, you’re out two forwards for weeks. We need, like, court mandated therapy or something.”

“Let me get this straight,” George summarizes in an understanding, calm tone. “I can pursue Zimmermann but I have to send you two to couple’s therapy.”

“Something like that,” he finds himself laughing at her phrasing.

“Consider it done.”

“What? Really?” He blanches. “Just like that?”

“You’re not dating, are you?”

He flinches. His sexuality was a well-kept secret among the Falconers. In hindsight, Kent wondered if being closeted affected his ability to feel comfortable with some of the members of his old team.

“Well not anymore, we’re not,” he blurts out before he loses his nerve. “That’s on a need to know basis, by the way.”

“Noted,” George pats his arm in assurance, “and just so we’re clear, the Falconers have your back. You know, if you ever want to come out.”

“Gotcha,” he affirms. “And thanks, I’m glad you guys chose me.”

Georgia snorts, “we would’ve been idiots not to.”

Kent gets a call a half an hour later.

“Your Assistant GM called my agent just now,” Jack’s flat tone comes through clear as day.

“Wow, she does work fast,” Kent thinks out loud.

“Kent, focus,” Jack commands. “What did you do?”

“Nothing! She asked me if it was a stupid idea to make you an offer.”

“And you said…”

“If we get like, therapy or something, it’ll probably be fine,” he thinks he should mention what he disclosed about Jack. But he also knows George can be trusted and it won’t matter if Jack signs with someone else.

“Therapy,” Jack repeats slowly.

“It’s not a bad idea,” he argues.

“So if I get a contract offer from them?”

“It will be because they want you, not because I demanded they sign you or some manipulative shit like that.”

“Ok,” Jack relents.

“We good?”

“Yeah,” Jack’s voice lightens up considerably.

“Now tell me what’d you thought of last night’s episode of _Drunk History_ ,” Kent redirects the conversation.

“Are you sure it’s supposed to be funny?”

“Mostly,” Kent concedes. “It’s low-brow entertainment meets high-brow dinner topics.”

_/.\\_

Jack wonders how terrible an idea it is to play on the same team as Kenny again. They’ve been talking independent of Bitty for over six months. They haven’t skated together in years though; and maybe the setting will set him back. Then again, that’s probably why Bitty insisted on driving him down for this optional skate that George and his agent arranged for him to attend.

“Hey, Zimms” Kent greets them as he’s about step onto the ice.  “Dicky?”

“Mornin’ Kenny,” Eric waves him off like his presence is no big deal. “Snowy,” he shouts to the goal tender, holding up a basket.

“Oh fuck yeah,” Snowy skaters to the edge of the rink where Eric hands him a cookie.

Tater comes over with a ten and hands it to Bitty.

“Thank you kindly, I already put your order in your bag.”

“Спасибо, кролик,” Tater smiles gleefully.

“пожалуйста,” Bitty beams.  

Jack stares at him perplexed. Kent chuckles, “glad those years with Katya paid off. But what’s with the…pastry drop?”  

“Apparently,” Jack grunts as he lifts the large cardboard box in his hands a little higher. “Bittle runs an illegal pastry ring for the Falconers. Did you know about this?”

“Well now I know he’s getting paid for it,” Kent laughs harder. “Nate’s been fuming about Bits ever since I got traded.”

Jack gets suited up and joins the practice. He tries his best to ignore how the GM and assistant GM’s loitering around the rink.

“Hey,” Kent murmurs when he first sees Jack tense at their appearance. “We got this. You’re safe, ok? I’m here, and Bitty’s right over there.”

Jack takes a deep breath and nods. They find a rhythm easily, as if the years apart were less than days. They seek each other out effortlessly. Bitty’s quietly doing homework on a bench nearby, but he looks up every so often to give them encouraging grins. They’re soft and subdued, with a slow warmth that Jack’s come to associate with a pre-heated oven or Bittle’s brown eyes. The awestruck look on Kenny’s face tells him that he’s not the only one who could trip over his own skates staring at those eyes. It’s…surreal, to say the least.

The practice goes off without a hitch. George approaches him afterwards about contacting his agent and coming up to Massachusetts in a few weeks. Kent reminds him that it’s his contract, his choice, at the end of the day. Bitty reiterates something similar later.

“If you ever need someone to talk to, I’m here,” Bitty reminds him. “And whatever you decide to do, you’ve got all of SMH on your side, you hear?”

“I’ll keep that in mind.”

The patented Parson-Zimmermann-no-look-one-timer was a dumb name. Granted, it had taken years of reflection for Jack to understand what sports writers knew before he did. He and Kenny gravitated towards each other seamlessly. Kent buzzed with a different energy, for lack of a better term, than other players. Like the hum of a bee or the prowl of a cat, Kenny was bright and jittery, edgy but still warm. Jack was worried about trusting Kent to make connections like he used to. It wasn’t exactly like riding a bike again, or breathing after a long dive. It couldn’t feel anything different than skating with his best friend again.

Jack never pretends to be a poet. He still hates stories, kind of. But now he thinks the world’s greatest story is the one that unfolds before each of us. Playing with Kent and the Falconers, hearing Bitty cheer from time to time, that felt right. A new chapter was revealing itself to him, and he felt ready.

This year at parent’s weekend it’s Mrs. Bittle, “call me Suzanne, hun”, sitting next to his dad. On her other side is Kent, who gets smacked on the knee more than once for harassing the ref. When he and Bitty are on the same line this game, he realizes that it only feels slightly different than it does with Kenny. Bitty gravitates around Jack more like a fox cutting through a field of wolves. He was smaller, but knew how to bend his opponents. His moves were calculated, but vivacious. Eric’s movements were more confident than they’d once been. Together they beat Colgate 2-0.  This year’s parents’ game is more relaxed and amicable. When Kent throws himself into a bone-crushing hug with Jack and Bitty, it’s a homecoming of its own. Bitty’s chuckling softly as Kent ruffles their freshly showered heads with his hands while a fond smile settles on Jack’s lips. It’s an overwhelming reassurance that things change, people change, and the outcome can sometimes be far better than ever imagined.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Спасибо, кролик - thank you, bunny  
> пожалуйста - you’re welcome 
> 
> In the commentary for the frozen four, the announcer mentions Olander. That's what I assume Ollie's last name is.
> 
> Chapter title - Some Boys by Death Cab for Cutie 
> 
> *Swoops isn't Swoops. Ngozi has stated his name is officially Troy. This fic has now been updated to reflect that.*


	9. Like A Fool

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There’s something infinitely frustrating about a world where Kent Parson is the moon and Jack Zimmermann’s the sun.

It’s July, and Bitty managed to sweet talk his boss into letting him go home for the day. Any other instance, and Bitty would’ve stayed put until the weekend. But it’s Kenny’s birthday, and he knows he ought to be there.

It turns out that Bitty’s needed at home more than he suspected.

“He’s barely moved all day,” Mama explains in hushed whispers. “I only got him to sit up and eat some breakfast. Dicky, I don’t know what to do.”

“Let me try,” he offers tentatively. The stairs feel like they stretch on forever.

In front of the guest room, Kit’s splayed against the door. She meows when he’s close enough to tower over her.

“Hello darlin’,” he stoops down to pick her up. “I’m sure he could use some Kit cuddles right now.”

He wraps against the door softly. When he can’t make out a response he decides to go in anyway.

“Kenny?” he pops his head into the room, “look who I have.”

Kent’s tucked in under the covers, save for the hand that’s propping his phone against his pillow. Bitty carefully approaches, sitting down on the foot of the bed. Kit jumps out of his arms and plops herself next to Kent. He reaches out to pet her, his motions are mechanical at best.

“Do you wanna talk about it?”

Kent shakes his head slowly.

“Is there something I can do for you?”

Kent nods, refusing to look over.

“You gotta tell me what though,” Bitty says patiently. “I can’t read minds”

This earns him a snort from Kenny. “Cuddle?”

“Of course,” he slips his shoes off and climbs onto the vacant space behind Kent. He scoots in to hold him from behind. He hooks his chin onto Kent’s right shoulder, looking over his phone. He’s staring at a picture of him and Jack from the Q.

Of course, Bitty thinks bitterly to himself. It’s always about Jack, isn’t it? But Kent’s having a bad day, he reminds himself.

“I, uh, had a bad dream,” Kent rasps quietly sometime later.

“Was it about Jack?”

Kent nods.

“Was it about the draft?”

He nods again, eyes glistening and unreadable.

“He’s alive,” Bitty declares. “He’s in Anaheim right now.”

“I know,” he claims. Then Kent adds, “he wasn’t always.”

“What?”

“Alive,” he croaks. “He died for a few seconds. 2:43 am, they said.”

Bitty feels Kent quivering.

“What’s today’s date?”

“July 4th,” Kent mumbles half-heartedly.

“What were you wearing last year?”

“A pink bathrobe,” he whispers.

“What did you do?”

“Watched _Miss Congeniality_ with Troy.”

“What else?”

“We ate ice cream until we barfed.”

“Really?”

Kent chuckles quietly, almost in a forced fashion, “not really.”

“Turn around please,” Eric begs.

“Why?”

“So I can cuddle you better,” he clarifies.

Kenny complies, burying his face in Bitty’s chest.

“I need you to know I’m here for you,” Bitty informs him. “You don’t have to pretend about anything, ok?”

Kent grips him tighter. Bitty lets them lie there, soaking up the silence. He hates this part. It would be so easy to throw one of them under the bus for everything that transpired between them. But he knows they both hurt, so much. And they weren’t solely responsible to everything that happened. Bitty can only imagine how hard it was for Kent to cope in the aftermath. Clearly, he was worse for wear, but it had taken him years to own up to that. He wonders who Kenny would be now if it weren’t for how much he pushed aside his needs, or the draft, or even the Q.

Bitty knows it’s stupid to imagine, but sometimes he thinks about a world where Kenny quit hockey. He’d be working as an accountant or at some non-profit by now. He’d probably live somewhere on the East Coast, because he’d miss the winter too much and he never wanted to move to Vegas in the first place. Maybe he’d have a different cat and a boyfriend who didn’t hurt him as much to love. Maybe Bitty wouldn’t have moved towns, because he was always a phone call away.

But these are half-empty hypotheticals at best, and he’s just noticed how damp his shirt collar is. Kenny’s crying, that’s new.

“You are so amazing and incredibly important to a lot of people,” Bitty murmurs. “I need you to know that you did your best. And he’s still here, he doesn’t hate you. I think that means you did a pretty fucking good job.”

His sobs get louder.  

Bitty squeezes him tighter, peppering kisses along his cheek and neck. Eventually, Kenny cries himself out. They fall asleep like that, Kent buried under blankets under the crook of Bitty’s neck. Bitty thinks it’s the midafternoon when Kent’s phone wakes them up. Bitty grabs it from the other side of Kent’s pillow. He’s about to chuck it into a pile of dirty laundry when he notices the caller ID—Zimms.

“Kenny, it’s Jack,” Bitty nudges him. “Do you wanna talk to him?”

“Sure,” he sighs dejectedly. “Calling to renounce your Canadian citizenship?”

He can hear Jack laughing on the other side.

“Thanks. It’s been alright,” Kenny lies through his teeth. “Dicky’s made this the best birthday yet.”

“Dude, it’s fine. I literally did not expect you to give up camp. I don’t even like my birthday.”

“Since…a while, no don’t Jack. I,” Kent sighs. “I mean don’t sweat it.”

“Well that’s my problem,” he spats.  “Thank you,” it comes out biting yet tired and desperate. “Sure, yea no worries. Thanks again.” He hands Bitty the phone.

“Hello?”

“America’s Next Top Model,” Jack says simply.

“I’m sorry, what?”

“He’s upset,” Jack asserts firmly. “That always cheers him up.”

“Alright, anything else?”

“If he starts playing Arcade Fire, call me.”

“What a perfectly normal thing to say,” Bitty deadpans.

“It was our favorite band,” Jack explains. “He, uh, told me a while back that he only plays it now when he’s in a bad place.”

“I'll keep you posted,” Bitty promises. “Good luck at camp.”

“Thanks,” Jack hangs up.

“Doesn’t he know you’re already babysitting me?” Kent quips mirthlessly.

Bitty has the common sense to ignore his attempts to stir trouble. “C’mon, let’s get you out of bed. Mama made burgers for lunch.”

Kent follows him out. _America’s Next Top Model_ helps a lot, it relieves Bitty as much as it bothers him. He wouldn’t say he’s jealous, no. But there’s something infinitely frustrating about a world where Kent Parson is the moon and Jack Zimmermann’s the sun. For as much as they’re all mending bridges and growing up, setbacks like this are surreal and painful.  No one should have this much power over another person, even if they don’t realize it. Which is what Jack possesses whenever Kent has bad days; when he feels like he’s still seventeen hiding in a hotel bathroom with who he’s convinced is the only boy who will ever love him. That was the difference between Jack and Kent, Bitty’s learned. Jack didn’t trust other people enough was he was younger, and Kenny trusted too much. They didn’t see how much they were breaking each other until it was too late.

“Call your therapist,” Bitty instructs him after a few episodes.

Kenny goes to the backyard without a word. When he comes back a while later, his eyes are red-rimmed and blue. He falls onto the couch, letting his head fall on Bitty’s shoulder.

“Better?”

“Much, thanks,” Kent acknowledges. “I wasn’t lying. This is the best birthday I’ve had in years.”

“Well as kind as that is to say, I think we’ve got some time left in the day,” Bitty tentatively grins at him.

“What’d you have in mind?”

“Chinese and Gossip Girl?”

“Ok this is officially the best birthday ever,” Kent blurts out.  

They down food that’s against Kent’s nutrition plan and chirp each other about what they’d do in situations that the show presents. They sit close and this time Bitty gets to use Kent as a pillow. He thinks a part of Kent died that day with Jack. But unlike Jack, he didn’t resuscitate. Bitty feels like he rediscovering Kent all the time—searching for scars, tattoos, wrinkles, and memories. He thinks this Kent depends on Jack less every day. But he knows Kenny will never stop loving Jack Zimmermann.

And he honestly doesn’t know how to feel about that.

_/.\\_

Eric and Jack don’t talk about Kent like they used to. They don’t have hushed arguments in the kitchen when supposedly no one is home. They don’t make jabs at each other or pitying looks when something comes up that riles them both. Eric knows he’s thought of Jack as a friend since last year’s parents’ weekend, but he wasn’t close with Jack until Kent was fully in the picture. Until they could say whatever they wanted to around the team because they knew who Kent Parson was to them. Until Bitty doesn't feel like an outsider on the team and in Jack’s life.

Now when they talk, it’s how friends do. It’s while watching television and doing working or early morning trips to Annie’s. They have multiple modes of operation, Bitty thinks. They’re teammates, friends, mutual best friends with Kenny, and then they’re…them. Jack and Bitty have their own world. They read classic books for fun and discuss them. They make stories up about who’s secretly dating in the one class they share. They argue about who can take the best photo to send to Kenny. And they chirp each other at every opportunity. People see Jack and think he’s the strong and silent type. Really, he’s sweet and shy with the most wicked sense of humor Bitty’s ever seen.

They switch stations and playlists constantly on their trips down to Providence. Jack works on his senior thesis in Kent’s living room with reruns of _LA Ink_ playing in the background while Bitty works on filling orders for his new website and his latest vlog. When Kent comes home and chirps about how domestic they look, Bitty ducks behind the fridge to hide a blush.

It doesn’t feel like Kenny’s place. It feels like their home. Which is baffling for Bitty to say the least. He knows he loves Kent. He’s _in love_ with Kent. He knows he’s attracted to Jack. Maybe he’s even in like with Jack, but—

It’s Jack. It’s Kent’s Jack. And somehow, the idea that he’d be taking something from Kenny sends his mind spiraling.

“You ok, bud?” he snaps his head up. Jack’s brows are etched in worry.

Bitty nods dumbly.

“You sure?” Kent approaches with Kit in his arms. “Dicky, c’mon it’s us.”

Bitty considers lying. Then he remembers he assigned himself to being in their lives and he can’t make them communicate with him if he doesn’t meet them halfway. “Guess sometimes it’s hard to remember that I’m not intruding on your lives.”

“You doofus,” Kenny mutters. “Zimms?”

Jack unceremoniously throws Bitty over his shoulder, dropping him on the couch.

“Bits let’s get something straight this proverbial we,” Kent gestures to him and Jack. “Would not exist without you. Like, fuck juniors, do you honestly think we would have our shit as figured out like we do right now if you weren’t incredible?”

“I don’t know about that,” Bitty rebuffs.

“It’s true,” Jack agrees. “Kenny and I are…kind of stupid without you.”

Bitty laughs, “that does make me feel better. Kinda.”

“Hey,” Kent puts a hand on his shoulder. “I can’t say that I wouldn’t be _here_ without you. But I know for a fact that I’d still be a miserable fucker.”

“Bittle, we care about you. A lot,” Jack admits seriously. “I don’t know if I tell you that often enough.”

“Uh that’s the first time actually,” his lip quirks slightly.

“See? Progress,” Kent teases. He flips the TV to a channel that’s showing _Ferris Buehler’s Day Off_.

They watch mostly in silence, enjoying each other’s company. Sometimes it’s easy to forget that Bitty has his own problems to deal with. Good thing these two have kindness in spades.

_/.\\_

Truth be told, Eric admires cake decorators like no other. The fusion of baking and visual artistry is a balancing act that Bitty continuously strives for. If only he weren’t so self-conscious about his art skills. Lardo gives him critiques on cake designs whenever he has the courage to ask. She’s even offered to collaborate with him on a project sometime.

“We could make the most bulbously beautiful edible installation ever,” she pitched to him.

For the most part, his art practice is relegated to the margins of his notebook during class. Jack chirps him for it every time they have WGSS 120 together.

“You planning on bribing your way to an A, Bittle?” he’d chirp when he saw that his doodles were pastry related.

“It’s better than signed hockey memorabilia, Mr. Zimmermann,” he’d volley back.

Today in particular, Bitty was working on more of an abstract concept as they discussed the economics of victory gardens. He was working out the logistics of designing and making an edible model of the Pond frozen over. He improved the sketch as he wrote out notes about the materials and structure. Jack’s so engrossed in the lecture notes that he doesn’t look over until the end of class.

“Hey,” he points to the notebook, “that’s really good.”

“Really?” Bitty exclaims, clapping a hand over mouth. He blushes, “sorry, I mean thank you, Jack.”  

Jack shrugs easily, “you could probably make a fortune baking.”

“I don’t know about that,” Bitty snorts in disbelief.

“Bits, you’re good,” he insists. “Really good. It’s your passion, eh?”

“I suppose you’re right,” they’re walking to the house. It’s a brisk November day. It’s sunny out and the light is hitting the corners of Jack’s face just right. Jack takes Bitty’s breath away.

The epiphany hits Bitty harder than any check he’s had to endure. He thinks he’s fallen for Jack Laurent Zimmermann. The same Jack that has a history with Kenny and was (probably is) the love of Kent’s life. He shivers violently.  It’s just typical of him to like someone he can’t have. Someone sweet and thoughtful, reserved yet brash like Jack or Kent.

Bitty stops in his tracks, causing Jack to look back in concern. He laughs it off as thinking he forgot to turn the stove off this morning. Jack arches an eyebrow at him, but lets the excuse slide. Bitty sighs in relief.  He’s not ready to deal with…all of this. Jack and Kenny are still getting their bearings around each other. Bitty isn’t sure he even wants to do anything about these feelings.

It’s one thing to pine, it’s another to throw yourself at the mercy of love. Jack and Kent have taught him how fucking scary love can be. In the good moments, however, they remind him that’s there’s a reason people fall in and out of love all the time. Because life is about reaching out from the void. It’s about learning and sacrificing and hoping something sticks long enough to help you find yourself. It’s about finding the people who matter enough to fight for.

He’ll just have to see how it all plays out.

_/.\\_

Jack spends Action de grâce with his parents. They’d planned a trip to Mumbai with the charity that they’d founded, so Jack was left to find his own plans for the day. Actually no, they’d only made those plans after Eric insisted that Jack was welcomed to the Bittles’ Thanksgiving festivities.

The only thing Eric forgot to mention was that the Bittles were celebrating Thanksgiving in Providence this year—with Kent’s family. It’d been years since he’d seen Amelia Murphy, Kent’s mom. She was a petite brunette with Kent’s nose and eyes. He remembered fondly the nasally quality that undercut her speech.  Jack expects Bitty to answer the door, or maybe Kent but that’s less likely. He doesn’t expect Amelia’s husband, Trevor, to greet him. The man’s a blond in his early 40’s and barely taller than Jack, but he carries himself with a great amount of grandeur that leaves most intimidated.

“Jack,” he smiles and offers his hand, “good to see you again, come on in.”

“You too Mr. Murphy,” he falls into his media persona without noticing.

“Jack, please,” Trevor scolds. “I thought we’d moved past this ‘Mr. Murphy’ business.”

“Of course, not,” Amelia snorts. “Jack was always the most polite of my boys.” She walks over to hug him. With her short stature, he thinks he was conditioned to like Lardo’s hugs from the moment he met her.

“That hurts, Ma,” Kent whines. “Cuts real deep.”

“Less yakkin’ more mashin’” Mama and Bitty chastise him.

“Yes ma’am…and Eric.”

“You’re still a miracle worker, Suzanne,” Amelia smirks.

“Well I don’t have to worry much with Kenny,” Suzanne waves her off. “You raised a fine boy.”

“A boy who could’ve bothered to let his mother know he was moving back,” Amelia retorts.

“I sent you shit,” Kent mumbles.  

“Language,” Suzanne warns. Jack and Bitty laugh at his expense.  

“Sorry Ma,” Kent directs at his mother. “But I you never take your phone with you.”

“I have a Skype account for a reason, Kent Virgil.”

“Oh, middle name,” Jack chirps. “Oh, I, uh, brought this,” he presents red wine to Amelia.

“Thanks, Zimms, you shouldn’t have,” Kent watches his mother put the bottle away in one of his cabinets.

“It’s not a problem,” Jack insists. “What can I help out with?”

He ends up making the stuffing under Bitty’s supervision (“not too much broth and just around the edges, Jack”). He gets to know Coach and they shoot the breeze about which teams he’s being scouted by.

“I’ve gotten some interest from Anaheim, LA and San Jose, but I’m thinking about picking an expansion team,” he explains.

“The Aces ask about you?” Kent asks.  

“They approached my agent,” he shrugs. “But, Kent, I’m not gonna go with them.”

Kent frowns. “It’s your career, Zimms. If they’re the best team for you, it’s alright.”

“But they’re not,” Jack argues. “They’re far away and…”

“And you’ve been happier with the Falconers than you were for a long time, sugar bee.” Suzanne interjects, “that speaks volumes of the Aces’ management.”

“They weren’t homophobic or abusive or anything.”

“If you needed help and you asked for it, they should’ve given it to you in a heartbeat,” she reasons.

Jack sees Amelia in the corner, stiff with a flush on her face. She and Kent must not talk like they used to. Jack wonders how long Kent used the excuse of his mother’s ‘happiness’ to avoid her. Kent’s been seeing a therapist for seven months now, and Jack can only assume that’s why he was able to invite his mom and stepdad. The rest of the evening is filled with small talk and well wishes.

He tries not to watch to carefully whenever Eric and Kent brush up against each other. Every chirp and smile send his mind reeling. They’re both so relaxed. They fit together. It makes Jack’s skin crawl. Why does it bother him more now? They’re watching _Miracle on 34 th Street_ (the ’94 remake) in Kenny’s living room. Jack’s wedged between them, Kent leaning back with splayed legs while Bitty’s (comfortably) smooshed against the loveseat’s arm. At some point, they’re both leaning into his shoulders. He thinks this is what he was missing, being a part of that connection. He realizes, much to his embarrassment, that he’s been envious of them all day. Maybe he should mention it, but fuck they’re here. They’re in this moment and it feels too good to let go of. He doesn’t want to disturb that yet.

He doesn’t realize how late it is until Bitty announces its eleven and they should all really head to bed.

“You’re welcome to stay the night,” Kent offers “driving an hour right now sounds pretty shitty.”

“On what bed?” he doesn’t mean for it to come out so blunt.

“Pull out couch,” Kent supplies.

“Hey that’s my bed,” Bitty pipes indignantly.

Kent chuckles, “I was going to say ‘if Dicky doesn’t mind sharing’ but you can totally crash on my bed.”

“Bittle or me?”

“Either, both,” he shrugs. “It’s pretty big and I don’t mind as long as y’all can stand my cold toes.”

Jack ends up sleeping on Kent’s bed with Bitty in between them. There’s enough space that everyone has their own pillow space. That doesn’t stop either blond from migrating in their sleep, however. Jack wakes up the next morning with Bitty half on top of him and Kent drooling on his shoulder, he still can’t figure out why he ever felt out of place. He closes his eyes for a few more minutes, basking in the quiet comfort of the moment.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Anaheim did have a prospect camp the week of July 4th 2014. I don't mean to toot my own horn, but I try to make my hockey details as close to rl as possible. 
> 
> If you recall, Kent thinks summer goes really well. I hope Bitty's POV shows that they all remember things differently. That's important for the next chapter. 
> 
> Chapter title - Like A Fool (Keira Knightley for the film Begin Again)  
> So this is one of those songs (like Last Hope) where originally it was a song I added for Kent's POV. But like Last Hope worked for Jack, I felt the Like A Fool spoke to where Bitty is right now. 
> 
> *Swoops isn't Swoops. Ngozi has stated his name is officially Troy. This fic has now been updated to reflect that.*


	10. Weak

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Epikegster 2k14 - a tryptic

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: alcoholism is a major theme of this chapter. Feel free to skip if a narrative of self loathing will be damaging to you.

It was a strange set of circumstances that lead to the debacle of Epikegster 2k14. Most of it boiled down to miscommunication. It wasn’t anyone’s fault and yet everyone was to blame. Kent had texted Jack during the week about schmoozing him on behalf of the Falconers. Jack had agreed and told him to come on Saturday. Honestly, he’d forgotten about the party until the day of. He vaguely remembers what Kent had told him, nine months ago, about hating parties. But Jack didn’t think much of it. In the flurry of party preparation, Jack forgets about Kenny’s impending arrival.

Jack and Bitty are talking in the downstairs hallway, leaning in too close. They’re chirping each other about everything they can come up with. The music’s so loud the bass thrums through them ferociously. They talk for an hour, maybe longer. The room gets too warm for Jack’s liking, and he tries to head off an anxiety attack. Bitty notices, suggesting they go out back. They’re sitting in the grass, for some time. The blades are dry but freezing, and the ground is hard and lumpy. It doesn’t distract them much, though. Bitty identifies stars here and there.

“How do you keep track of them?” Jack asks, fascinated with yet another aspect of Eric Bittle.

Bitty shrugs unassumingly, “you learn to recognize the patterns in the sky and the rotation of the Earth. Kenny’s the real expert, though, he used to take me star gazing all the time. He even snuck me out of camp one night last summer to go to this great clearing he found.”

Jack remembers about Kent’s visit exactly when Chowder comes bolting out of the back door.

“I found them!” Chowder yells back inside, presumably at Nursey who running up behind him. “Guys, Lardo needs you in the kitchen.”

Bitty shoots off the grass, Jack feels his muscles tense.

“What is it?” Bitty asks as he pulls Jack along inside.

“Kent fucking Parson,” Nursey replies out of breath.

Bitty looks back at Jack, but decides against inquiring and rushes them both inside. A million and one scenarios pop into Jack’s head. He for a moment, he doesn’t know if he should expect anything. It could be nothing eh? Maybe he got in a fight with a random party goer or football player. Nothing could prepare him for the sight of Kent crumpled on the floor, sobbing into Lardo’s shoulder. Jack’s heart shatters faster than it did after the draft.

_/.\\_

Kent didn’t know why he was so nervous. He and Jack were friends, they were good. Maybe it was a force of habit to assume Jack will meet him with hatred. It’s water under the bridge, he tries to himself. Their separation was for the best. They were different people now. It takes all his mental capacity to keep himself under wraps on the drive up to Samwell. Thank goodness for weekend traffic, there’s no risk of crashing at five miles per hour. Although there is one time where he can’t figure out how to switch gears after being parked and the car behind him is hoking incessantly. That’s fun.

He arrives a little later than expected. He texts Zimms that he found parking and was heading over. He’s thrown off by the rager that seems to have engulfed the entire Haus. Did Jack invite him to a party on purpose? Why? Then he remembers how shitty Jack can be at remember events and decides not to feel bothered by the development. Shitty’s sitting on the front porch.

“Yo! Parse, brah, I didn’t know you were coming up this weekend,” he waves Kent over, “come, drink the tub juice of fraternity with me.” He sees Kent hesitate and amends, “unless that’s not your style, which is totally fine.”

Kent sighs, “definitely not my style, thanks though.”

“No problem, I respect the sober life,” he nods seriously. “Let me know if anyone gives you a hard time.”

“Have you seen Zimms around? I’m supposed to be here on hockey business,” he air quotes the last part.  

“Ah, trying to get him in bed with the Falconers,” Shitty smirks. “Last time I saw him was with Bits. So, tiny blond next to large Canadian beefcake is probably your best bet.”

“Thanks Shits,” he laughs to calm his anxiety. It doesn’t work.

Unfortunately, the problem with being a successful NHL player from a local team is the recognition. He’s not one to be rude so he’s barely in the door when a barrage of selfies commences. He tries to keep up with names and pleasantries, but the overwhelming crowd and music is getting to him. He ignores his anxiety creeping up on him. Thirty people in, he’s tired and concerned. He checks his phone, no text back from Jack. He texts again, and again five minutes later. He doesn’t know how many people he’s met or how many snapbacks he’s signed when some frat guy, definitely _not_ SMH, offers him a shot. He politely declines, the guy won’t let up. The fucker goads him until he gives in. He knows it’s an awful idea but he’s older, wiser.

He’s in a better place in his life and he seriously needs something to take the edge off this circus act they’re calling a party. It burns going down, but the warmth that fills the pit of Kent’s stomach feels so good. He feels good, relieved. It reminds him of stolen kisses and fleeting seconds of bliss. Against his better judgement, he takes a cup of tub juice from some random chick. He hadn’t connected how wound up he was all day until his fourth drink heats up his face and numbs his hands. He tries Jack again, nothing. He decides to not let it bother him much, the night’s still young after all.

The thing about drunk Kent is that he’s a people pleaser, more so than his sober self. He’s dancing with random people and kissing cheeks. He’s taking compliments and giving advice to people who really appreciate it (even if they’re not coherent to understand him). He takes his high as feelings of love. It’s an intense euphoria for him that reminds him that he deserves to be loved. It’s soft and easy. He’s floating on a cloud. For a moment, he’s whole. So, he drinks to keep the feeling up. He stumbles upon a game of flip cup and dominates. He’s king of the party and everyone knows it. Time slows and inhabitations fade, he wonders why he ever went dry. He thinks he’s on his twelfth drink when he checks his phone.

He’s been here for maybe two hours and he’s utterly fucked out of his mind. Concern for Jack is overriding his drunkenness, as it always has. He, wisely, decides to go in search of water. He stumbles into the kitchen, dumping the rest of his cup in the sink. Kent’s biggest problem with getting drunk isn’t controlling his intake, it isn’t even the hangover or the liver damage afterwards. It’s that with every high, he takes it too far. He must fall back down to earth, _hard_.

He’s standing in the kitchen slow sipping water when his happy buzz morphs into hyperventilation. He thinks about how Jack hasn’t answered back the entire time he’s been here. He wonders if he’s being avoided. It doesn’t bother him at first. But then he starts thinking about the possibility that Jack still hates him and is pretending for Bitty’s sake. Or worse, that Bitty’s keeping up pretenses for Jack’s sake without knowing that Jack feels the same. It’s ridiculous, he tries to shake it off. But is it? He’s a worthless piece of shit; a functional alcoholic at best. He puts on this airs so people will like him but what’s there for them to like? A washed-up hockey player who can’t hold onto anyone. From day one, he’s been a burden on anyone who dared to care about him. The number of mistakes he’s made since the Q, since long before that, tick off in his head. Each hammering a nail into the coffin of his self-esteem. He forgot how much he could hate himself. It’s five seconds of bliss for hours of self-deprecation. Is it even worth it? He doesn’t know. He’s too fucked to decide.

He chugs the rest of his water to calm himself down, he’s not lucid enough yet to notice how shallow his breathing is. He reaches for the faucet, overflowing his cup. He downs it again, it’s not the same as tub juice, it’s not fixing his anxiety. He tries to focus on something good. His mind goes to letting Bitty. And then letting Bitty down. Fast forward to the idea of Eric having fucking PTSD because Kent had to throw some punches around at some assholes growing up. He thinks about how much happier Dicky would’ve been without Kent to fuck him up. He imagines a life where he never knew Eric, it makes him sick to his stomach.

He thinks about all the times he failed Jack. All the anxiety attacks he probably caused, all the pills or alcohol he could’ve confiscated. All the times he tried his fucking best and that just didn’t cut it. He’d disappointed Jack on and off the ice too many times to count. His mind flashes an image of Jack’s spilled bottle of meds next to his limp hand. The fear that drowned him as he rushed words at the 911 lady. The numbness he felt when Alicia asked him to leave the next morning. The hollowness he felt as he was forced to smile when the Aces drafted him, taking him miles away from the only homes he’s ever known and the people he loved.

He thinks about the ear curdling scream he heard when he found Jack’s unconscious body. Kent remembers that was probably him, realizing that the love of his life was probably dead. Kent’s legs give out, he can hardly feel the tremors racking his body through the shooting pain in his knees. His vision blurs, he can’t tell if he’s passing out or just crying. He doesn’t care anymore. The worst part of coming down from a buzz is the emptiness that ensues. The realization that it had all been a farce, just like him.

Kent doesn’t even know if Jack’s ok right now, and that’s the scariest part.

He thinks he sees someone’s shoes up close at some point. He hears someone calling his name. It doesn’t click to him until it’s right in his ear accompanied with a gentle shake. His eyes snap up, Lardo.

“Bro, are you ok? Do you need water?”

Kenny shakes his head, gesturing shakily to the cup spilled next to him. Lardo nods in understanding.

“Talk to me, babe,” Lardo sits down next to him. “What’s going on?”

“I ruin everything,” he manages.

“You don’t,” she rubs his back gently. “You’re like this team’s number one fan. You help Dex and Chowder with Calc like all the time. You make Jack and Bitty happy. You’re a good guy, Kent.”

Kent tries to keep from choking on air, “fuck, I’m sorry. I’m not supposed to drink, I’m such a fucking idiot. Shit, Jack, is he ok?”

“Yes, he’s fine,” she tells him calmly. He hears her yell at someone to find Jack and Bitty.

“No don’t get them,” Kent argues. “They shouldn’t have to deal with my shit. They hate me enough as it is.  Fuck, I’m just fucking shit up. I gotta go. I’m really so—”

Lardo presses gently, but firmly, down on his shoulders. Her eyes are soft and pleading, “Do you really think they hate you?”

Kent cracks. He feels Lardo wrap her arms around him as he sobs uncontrollably. He truly feels unlovable. He needs to hurt, it’s his penance.

He’d give anything to just not deal with this anymore. He feels someone pick him up, the broad chest and smell of oak make him think of Jack. He nuzzles into the chest further when the light shifts, probably someone’s bedroom, his mind supplies. There’s a rumbling coming from the chest, a hand is softly wiping tears away from his face.  

“Tu es en sécurité, chéri.”

_/.\\_

When Nursey says Lardo needs help with Kent, Bitty fears the worst. He had no clue Kenny was coming up, he would’ve planned otherwise. He would’ve stayed sober with him and paid attention to his cues like he had been with Jack. His thoughts go to Kenny having an all-out anxiety attack. He thinks he’s ready to see that, but nothing could’ve prepared Eric for how broken down and small Kenny looked weeping into Lardo’s shoulder.  

“He said something about not drinking and how he fucks everything up,” she bites her lip, hesitating before she adds. “He thinks you hate him, both of you.”

Before he can say anything, he hears Jack hissing “never.”

“Wait, not drinking?” Bitty’s mind catching up. “He—he’s drunk.” He surmises as rage boils in him.

He knows Kent, Bitty _knows_ Kenny. He didn’t do this on purpose because he was bored or wanted to cause trouble. He probably did it because he was so damn nervous that he wasn’t thinking. But even then, he wouldn’t seek out something he knew was bad for him. It enrages him further.

“Who the fuck gave him alcohol?” he spits.

“It was Daniels from the Lax team” Holster supplies. “He didn’t want it, but that douche was insistent as fuck.”

Bitty looks back at the d-man dangerously, “get him the fuck out of here. And tell him if I ever, and I mean ever, see his fucking face in my Haus again, there is no power on earth that will keep him safe from me.”

Holster nods, taking Ransom, Nursey and Dex with him as back up.

Bitty’s ready to beat up the next idiot to dare cross him, but Kenny needs him right now. He probably needs them both.

“Jack,” he nudges the taller man gently. “Let’s get him upstairs.”

Jack nods somberly, picking Kent bridal style. He looks so vulnerable in Jack’s arms, it hurts Bitty to think of all the times Kent had to do this alone. He hears Jack muttering something to Kent in French, it seems to calm him a bit. Jack lowers Kenny onto his bed.

“This boy was two years sober until tonight,” he paces around the room, wringing his hands. “Jack, when he drinks he doesn’t know how to stop. He’s good at saying no before he starts drinking but that’s completely different. And if what Lardo said is true, I can only imagine how many times he drank himself into self-loathing until he could barely pick himself back up again.”

“Merde,” Jack runs a hand through his hair. “You really think this always happens?”

Bitty shrugs, “they say your drunk self is you lying a little bit less. I thought he was getting better.”

“He is,” Jack reassures him. “It doesn’t happen overnight.”

 Kent groans, eyes cracking open slightly. Bitty rushes over to him. Kent sits up slowly.

“Kenny, how are you feeling?”

“Fuck, I’m alright,” Kent wheezes, “give me a second.”

“Inhaler,” Bitty instructs Jack who pulls one out of his desk drawer. He tosses it to Eric who quietly tells Kent to use it.  “Hey,” he squeezes Kent’s knee. “May 5th.”

Kent looks at him confused.

“May 5th, July 4th,” he prompts further.

“August 3rd,” Kent finishes. “May 5th, July 4th, August 3rd. May 5th, July 4th, August 3rd.” He gets a grip of his breathing.  Kent’s rubs his temple; his eyes snap up to Bitty. “Where’s Jack?”

“I’m here, Kenny,” his name drops off quietly from Jack’s voice. s

Kent bolts up from the bed going straight to Jack who’s leaning against his bookcase. His hands fidget in front of his chest, as if he knows what to do but feels uncomfortable. Jack nods reassuringly. Kent gasps in relief, he runs his trembling hands across Jack’s face.  He meticulously checks every inch of Jack. Bitty sits on the bed, observing the panic in Kent’s eyes.

“Did you drink anything?” Kent asks patiently.

“A beer.”

Kent looks back at Bitty, presumably for verification.

“Yep, just one he finished it an hour ago,” he confirms.

Kent nods, lump in his throat. “Did you take anything today?”

“Non,” Jack murmurs.  “I don’t do that anymore.”

Kent searches his face for some indication of a lie, but supplies a hollow smile on his face. “Do you need anything? How can I fix this?”

The question startles Jack, Bitty decides to intervene. “Jack,” Bitty adds gently, coming up behind him “There’s a water bottle and some fruit snacks in my room. Why don’t you go grab ‘em?”  

Jack nods and rushes out, closing the door behind him.

“Honey, are you alright?”

“Huh?” he stops and looks at Bitty for a minute. Bitty can see the cogs grinding in his head, coming up with some semblance of sobriety. “Yea I’m fine. Fuck, sorry, he just scares me when he drinks.”

“Scares you?” Eric blanches. “Why? Kenny did he—has he ever hurt you?”

“Of course, not,” Kent snaps. “Jack would never do that.”

“What scares you about him?” Bitty nor Kent notices Jack slip back into the room.

“The way he gets when he’s drunk and high,” he sighs. “It’s…it’s like…imagine watching a car accident on a loop. You can’t stop it…but you try your fucking hardest to make your feet move. Y’know? I…I have to help him, it’s what I do. It’s what I’m here for.”  

“So, you need to protect him…from himself?”

“I guess,” Kenny groans. “can I get some more water? I’m woozy.”

“Do you always take care of him when you’re drunk?” He takes the bottle from Jack, handing it to Kent.

Kent laughs mirthlessly. “I don’t get drunk, I just drink.”  Kent looks up, sees Jack, “where’s your phone?”

“In my desk, top drawer.”

Kent pulls it out, sitting down at the desk. He flips through the notifications quickly. He attempts to unlock phone, but doesn’t get it on the first try. He, wisely, gives up. He tosses the phone onto Jack’s bed. “Just…delete those.”

Jack grabs his phone, ignoring Kent as he protests. Kent gets up in the middle of Jack reading and tries to grab the phone. Bitty steps in, asking Kent to calm down. Kent’s yelling at Jack to put the fucking phone down. Jack tenses, looking dangerously back at Kent.

“Please, get into bed,” Bitty pleads.

Kent looks at him in horror. He goes without protest. He’s turned away from them. Jack scrolls through the messages. He sighs, hands Bitty his phone and gets in bed. Eric takes this as a direction to read the messages.

Kent: I just parked. On my way in.

Kent: Here, where are you?

Kent: Helloooooo

Kent: Earth to Jack Zimmermann

Kent: Jack, seriously, wtf are you???

Kent: There is only so many places in this house you can be in. Why are you avoiding me?

Kent: Are you ok? I can come back some other time.

Kent: If you want me to leave, just say so.

Kent: Jack

Kent: Jack

Kent: JACK

Kent: I’m sorry if I’m harassing you. Fuck I

Kent: I can go

Kent: Seriously

Kent: Answer your fucking phone and tell me what’s going on

Kent: Asshole

Kent: Fuck, I leave just tell me if you’re ok.

Kent: Please?

Kent: Jack

Kent: Zimms please

Kent: I can’t do this again

Kent: Just be ok

“Kenny please,” he hears Jack plead. “Look at me.”

Kent turns over, eyes crimson red. Jack pulls him into a hug. Kent’s cries into Jack’s chest. Bitty, against his better judgement sits on the edge of the bed. He reaches over, smoothing the cowlicks in Kent’s hair. It takes Lord knows how long, but Kent’s sobs calm into soft hiccups. He’s looking more lucid than he was before.

What sticks out to Bitty from Kent’s flurry of texts is the line _I can’t do this again_. Do what again? It was more than just seeing Jack drunk. This was the reaction of someone dealing with trauma. Bitty mulls the words over in his head. He remembers something MooMaw said once when he heard his third cousin had died in a car accident and felt awful for feeling nothing.

_Greif isn’t feeling sorry for someone’s passing. It’s a profound sadness that comes from watching a loved one pass on._

“Did you see him?” Bitty asks carefully, looking past Jack. “The night of the draft?”

Jack’s face is unreadable.

“Who do you think found him?” Kent huffs.

“What?” Jack stares at him in shock.

Kent ignores him in favor of Bitty, “are you ok?”

“Now don’t you worry about me, Kent Virgil. You’re there when I need you and right now, you need us.”

This time, Kent sleeps in the middle. He stirs once in the middle of the night, whimpering. They’re on each side of him, whispering reassurances. When Kent wakes up at the ass crack of dawn, he has Jack snoring into his ear and Eric leg sprawled over his torso. In a few hours, memories of last night will come to. He’ll be apologetic and embarrassed, but most of all, he’ll be glad that the team still wants him around. It’ll take a few weeks to unpack what he did and felt. But for now, he’s ok.

“I love you,” he whispers softly before drifting back to sleep.    

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well here it is, definitely the most anticipated chapter of this fic (probably).  
> This is the end of part 2 btw.
> 
> Chapter title - Weak by AJR


	11. Answer

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For the first time in their history, the Las Vegas Aces have won the Stanley Cup. Kent’s further down the line to hoist it up (after the captain and alternates) but he doesn’t care. This has been the worst year of his life. He finally has something to show for it.

**April 2009**

Jack’s heart is on a tether again.

Or at least that’s what it feels like before he takes another dose of meds. Had life always been this hard? When had getting out of bed, walking, even eating gotten so hard? He’s trying to pull himself together—quelling the instinct to scream at the top of his lungs and leave. It’s working for the most part, or maybe it’s the shot of vodka he took kicking in.

Kent won’t let him take shots in the morning, it’s infuriating to no end. He knows Kent means well, and when his mind is a little quieter, Jack can appreciate what Kenny’s trying to do. But Jack knows what he’s doing, for fuck’s sake. He can handle himself. He doesn’t need his best friend babysitting him. What he needs is to get a grip. The Memorial Cup is only a few weeks away. Rimouski is hosting this year. Either he and Kent get signed or they’re going down swinging. He really hopes it’s the former.

Jack’s thankful he doesn’t have a Facebook or Twitter. All he’s been reading lately is shit about his ‘potential’ or the fifty million ways he could choke. Jack is already aware of all that shit, he doesn’t need an outside source to back his claims. He thinks maybe he could get some squats in before this stupid party. He wishes Kent would stop dragging him out.

“Are you ready?” he barks in the direction of the bathroom.

“Yea,” Kent grumbles. He walks out in a rumpled Rangers shirt and an ‘hola’ snapback.

“You look like a slob,” Jack chastises.

“Huh?” Kenny says distractedly. “Sorry…I don’t know what to wear.”

“Just put a flannel on, stop pouting, and let’s go,” he commands.

Kenny chuckles amicably, “always punctual Zimms.”

There’s that stupid smirk on Kenny’s face again. Jack pulls him away from the door, sneaking a kiss before they’re on their way. It’s his parent’s house in Rimouski and they know he and Kent…are a thing. But still, you never know who could be around with two famous parents.

The party’s too much and the music is borderline horrible (if he wanted to listen to Kesha he’d do it in the comfort of his own home goddammit). Regardless, here he is. Kenny’s floating around him, making conversation with teammates and girls to deflect them away from Jack. Honestly, he appreciates what Kent does (most of the time). Jack’s weary of socializing after the draft, without Kenny. Because it’s bound to happen, they’ll be on different teams. It’s just the nature of the game.

He’s a few beers in and the meds are really taking effect. He doesn’t feel like he’s dangling on a high wire anymore. He isn’t some prodigy with little to gain and everything to lose (his friends, his family, his livelihood and all usefulness he’s every had). For a minute, he isn’t Jack Zimmermann. He’s –

“Zimms,” Kenny snaps his fingers in front of Jack’s face.

“What?”

“You ok?” His tone dripping with concern. “Wanna head out? There’s some wicked documentary on Animal Planet tonight.”

“Nah,” he refuses.

“Mario Party?” Kent offers more insistently. “We could invite Smithy and Foxtrot to play?”

“I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

Kent looks away for a second, when he comes back his mind looks miles away. His eyes make him look years younger, and scarred. “Whatever you wanna do, Zimms,” he sighs. “I’ll make it happen.”

“Would you just shut up for five fucking seconds?”

Kent momentarily looks hurt. But just as quickly as it arises, it’s replaced by an eerie calmness. “Ok,” he placates.

“Just leave me alone,” Jack growls.

“But Jack—”

“But nothing,” he asserts. “Fuck off. I’ll see you at home.”

He’s too aggravated, too worked up. He can hardly see in front of his own face. He thinks it’s been hours when he feels centered again. He’s sitting on the back porch of whoever’s house this is. His shivering slightly, but the cold always helps.

“It’s ok, Zimms,” he hears a voice say. “I gotcha. You’re safe.”

He realizes Kent’s arms are around him like a vice. Every squeeze pulls him in closer. Part of him wants to get Kent off, tell him to mind his own business. The other part doesn’t understand why Kent puts up with him, Jack’s just lucky.

“We’re gonna be ok,” Kent repeats like a mantra. “34 days remember?”

“34 days,” Jack parrots too quietly for Kent to hear over the blaring music drifting outside.

_/.\\_

**May 2009**

They win the Memorial Cup. That was everything the last two years had been working towards. He thought life was supposed to get easier. That the dead weight of expectations would slide off. Jack couldn’t have been more wrong. Now that they’re done with kiddie hockey, the big leagues are calling them. There’s a larger margin of error when it comes to the draft.

Sure, he could be first pick. But there’s nothing stopping Kenny from taking his spot. The one he’s worked his entire life to get. His feelings for Kenny are so intense lately. Sometimes his anxiety gets the best of him, and he wants nothing more than to kick Kent out on his ass. He’s Jack’s biggest competition after all. He’s cocky and brash and reckless. How he got this far is beyond Jack. It’s scares him because if Kenny can just skate by him with little effort, what’s he gonna be like when he has real incentive to play his best?

On the other hand, Kenny’s the one pulling him through the storm in his mind. He’s been chasing away the ghosts and demons since the day Jack first met him. Whenever the world gets to be too much, Kenny always finds him. Maybe he’s not enough to help Jack, but he takes care of Jack. He listens to what Jack wants and needs. Kent doesn’t shove Jack’s feelings aside because he’s ‘rich and talented’. Sometimes he feels like Kent is the only person in the universe who could possibly understand him.

Which is exactly why it’s driving Jack crazy. Emotions are messy, complicated, and often end with him on the floor sobbing. Kent makes him feel things he doesn’t understand—it makes him sick (but not entirely in a bad way).

When Jack isn’t locked in inner turmoil, he’s with Kenny, they’re on a road trip down the east coast. His parents gave it an ok just because it’s Kent and they trust him. Jack drinks a little less while they’re on the road. His meds are still taken religiously, but sometimes he can breathe by himself.

They end up in a small town in Maryland when his anxiety gets the better of him. Kent’s got a picnic and towel ready for them (Jack has no clue how, sometimes food just appears when Kent’s around).

“What are we doing here?”

“Taking a break,” Kenny smiles broadly. “Life’s too short to be working all the time, Zimms.”

“We should be training for camp,” Jack counters.

“Or maybe I won’t get drafted,” Kent proposes. Like it’s no big deal, which is insane to Jack. “And this’ll be the last time I ever hang out with you.”

“What are you talking about?”

“It could happen,” Kent shrugs.

“No, you’re too good. Crisse, Parse. If anyone deserves to be drafted, it’s you.”

Kent pauses for a moment. When he tilts his head back at Jack, his eyes glisten softly. They’re green and brown with all the warmth of the sun. It takes Jack’s breath away. “What did I do to deserve you?” Keny hugs him tightly.

“Don’t,” Jack huffs. He didn’t say it to be nice. He was being practical. Kent would be an asset to any team.

“I love you,” Kent whispers.

“Sure,” it wasn’t the first time Parse had said it. Jack believed it less and less every time.

He has a breakdown near Charlotte, North Carolina.

“I want to go home,” he tries his hardest not to sound like a petulant child.

“Why?” Parse isn’t upset, just concerned.

“We’ve been driving for weeks,” Jack contends. “We’ve already seen everything worth looking at”

“But Zimms, that’s where your wrong,” a smirk graces Kenny’s lips. He has some dumb idea concocted and any other day maybe Jack would stop to listen.

Instead he crosses his arms, unimpressed. He’s already made up his mind anyway.

“Look, I was gonna wait until we got there but you have t—”

“No,” Jack interrupts.

“No what?”

“No I don’t have to do anything,” he rebukes. “I’m done with this fucking trip. You’re turning this car around and we’re going home, now.”

The pain in Kenny’s eyes is intense and startling. It stokes his anxiety fueled rage further. They don’t talk for two days after that. When they do it’s not really talking; rather it’s Jack innating rough makeup sex.

“I’m sorry,” Kent whispers. In hindsight, he had nothing to be sorry for—but Kent had learned by that point that everything was his fault.

Instead of telling him as much, Jack kisses him to shut him up. Emotions are messy and dangerous. But being with Kenny…feels ok.  

_/.\\_

**June 2009**

Nothing’s enough anymore. The meds aren’t working as well as they used to. He needs keep trying. He has to hold one. It’s just one more day. He can make it. He has no choice.

_/.\\_

**June 2010**

For the first time in their history, the Las Vegas Aces have won the Stanley Cup. Kent’s further down the line to hoist it up (after the captain and alternates) but he doesn’t care. This has been the worst year of his life. He finally has something to show for it.

When he hands the Cup over to the next person, Troy, he recognizes the supreme power that the Cup had over him. It feels like the draft all over again. This looming goal that he’d set in place just to get by. Only this time he doesn’t know what he should look forward to.

Kent leaves his phone in his apartment that night. He figures it’s better than waking up in the morning to find that he’s drunk dialed Jack to say something stupid. He needs to get out of his head (and apartment). A night out with the guys is exactly what he needs.

He wakes up the next morning the hospital with an IV, hooked up to every monitor imaginable.  He asks the nurse who brought him in; he’s told it was an anonymous call and he was filed as a John Doe. He thinks briefly about Jack; about how Jack almost died a year before. Then he realizes that’s what he almost did, and no one would’ve known.

An NHL champ dying anonymously, that would’ve been the perfect end to a sorry tale. One of the nurses mumbles “alcoholic” at one point. Kent thinks to himself _yea, that sounds right._

He’s an addict, nothing more. Jack hates him, and his family probably will too if they hear about this. He can’t…keep doing this. He needs be better.

 “At least the paps won’t get wind of this,” he sighs, scrubbing his face.

He checks out a few hours later. He goes home and dumps all the alcohol he has.

The next week his captain announces his retirement. Kent gets the C. He tries to visit Jack. It goes both better and worse than he expected it to. He throws everything into being the best captain possible. Two years later, they win the Cup again. Kent’s the first to hoist it up this time. Every network, coach, and fan laud him as being the golden boy who brought pride to a shaky team. He’s a hero.

Yet he’s never felt so lost.

_/.\\_

**June 2012**

The Bittles have about fifty people over to watch the Stanley Cup finals. It’s Las Vegas vs Los Angeles.

“It’s a cryin’ shame when the best teams in the nation have never seen real ice,” MooMaw laments.

“Mama, Kenny’s on the Aces,” Suzanne explains to her. “He’s seen real ice.”

“Just as well,” MooMaw huffs. “That boy owes me a visit and a signed jersey.”

“You and me both,” Eric grumbles.

“Dicky don’t get smart with your grandmother,” Suzanne reprimands him.

“Yes ma’am.”

Mingling continues, Eric avoids questions about when he’s going to get a girlfriend and what he’s going to do for college (he has another year to figure that out, thank you very much). The Aces win. Mama’s tearing up and MooMaw’s jumping for joy. Coach is beaming with pride.  Coach is about to say something, Eric thinks he knows what it is.

_That’s my boy._

And it just bothers him. The guy who couldn’t be bothered to say a freaking hello in years; _he_ was the one Coach was proud of. Grief overcomes him. Eric and Coach used to be close. Ever since Kenny left, Eric had felt them slowly drift apart. They had less and less to talk about. He wondered if it was partly his fault for caring less about pleasing his father. But it honestly shouldn’t matter if Dicky was worth praising. It really shouldn’t matter who Eric is, not to Coach.

Eric leaves the room in tears before he can hear what Coach said. He faintly hears Mama call after him. He takes the truck and drives. He doesn’t realize exactly where until he parks. It’s the old park where Kent used to take him to star gaze.

“Figures,” Eric mutters somberly. “I still can’t get you out of my head.”

He sits on a swing. He thinks to call Kent’s old number. He doesn’t know if it’ll work or anything. Either way, Eric doesn’t feel like getting humiliated today. He puts his Beyoncé on shuffle and watches the stars. He decides to head home around midnight.

When he gets back his parents are, predictably, mad.

“You had us worried sick,” Mama tuts.

“You should have answered your phone,” Coach lectures. “Honestly, I don’t know what got into you son but—”

“Thank you,” Bitty interrupts bitterly.

“Excuse me?”

“I’m your son, not him,” he spits. “He hasn’t given us more than an eyelash bat in years. I should be the one you’re proud of. I’m sorry you’re not, but I can’t be him. And you—” Bitty sighs. “You should love me.”

His parents look at each other in shock, Suzanne takes her leave.

“Sit down, Dicky,” Coach pats the spot on the couch next to him.

“Yes sir,” he complies frigidly.

“Junior,” Coach clears his throat. “Grady and I grew up together. We were thicker than thieves and he is one of those friends that comes around once in a lifetime. I care about Kent partly because of my friendship with his father. But I cared mostly because of how much you wanted him around. He made you happy, son.

“Now you may not recall, but you weren’t an asker as a child. You were a fixer. That worried your Mama and I, I’ll admit.”

Eric chuckles, Coach wraps an arm around him. “But with Kenny, you were a different person. It was like he had this special power to make you see how incredible you were.”

“Ok.”

“I’m proud that a boy your mother and I helped raise grew into such a fine young man. That doesn’t make him better or more deserving of love than you in any way. I’m sorry if I’ve made you feel like you aren’t enough in any way. You’re my son. You are an incredible person, Dicky. Anyone would be a fool not to see that.”

“Thanks Daddy.”

“I love you, son,” Coach hugs him fiercely.

“I love you too.”

_/.\\_

**August 2012**

“Here you go,” Kent hands a check over to the receptionist dressed in cat themed scrubs.

“Perfect, and here’s your cat,” she hands him the carrier he’d brought in.

“Can I change her name?”

“She’s still pretty young so long as you use positive reinforcement it should be fine,” she justifies. “If you don’t mind me asking, what’s wrong Alicia?”

“It brings back some memories I’d rather not think about,” it’s the most he can answer without blowing a gasket.

“Well by all means,” she nods in approval. “She’s an adorable kitska, really.”

“Kitska?”

“That’s cat in Ukranian,” she explains amicably. “Kit is the male form.”

“Huh, I like that,” he turns to leave.

He’s opening the door when he hears the receptionist shout, “wait! Sir, the amount on the check.”

“Consider it a donation,” he hollers back.

He carefully sets the carrier down on the passenger seat of his 2000 outback. It’s the same car he’s had since he was seventeen. He thinks he’ll probably drive it until it gives out and then pay for a new engine. He couldn’t part with it at this point, there’s too much history.

“Alrighty, your name is Kit,” he informs the cat once they’ve pulled out of the parking lot of the local animal shelter.

The year-old cat mewls.

“Yea, fuck gendered names,” he tells her. “Let’s go home.”

Kent ticks off a to-do list in his head. He’s got cat food, a litterbox and liter in the trunk. He can order toys when he gets home. Then of course there’s the matter of getting a cat sitter. If he were smart, he wouldn’t have adopted a cat so close to the season starting. Fuck, if he had an ounce of common sense he wouldn’t have taken Troy's chirp of “get yourself a cat, old man,” at face value.

There’s a lot of things he should change about his life. Prepping for hockey is the only thing keeping him going at this point. Maybe he should get himself knocked down the AHL? Play like a chump for a few years and retire as a chump. Only, he knows that wouldn’t work. Anything less than his best will reflect on his boys and that’s just not fair. Worse, what would occupy his thoughts when hockey didn’t?

Hence, a cat. She was kind of cute. Her fur is charcoal grey and her eyes have this stunning green seeping out of the pupils, bleeding into a soft yellow.

“Weird eyes,” Kent thinks out loud. “We got a lot in common, huh Kit?”

The cat mewls insistently, clawing at the carrier, begging for attention.

Kent knows this is one of his less impulsive, non-dangerous ideas. It feels dumb to be proud of himself but this was a good day. He was productive, and made a difference in the world. Above all, he made another good memory on August 3rd. If that doesn’t get him through the month, he doesn’t know what will.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Why did I post three chapters in one day? Answer: I felt like it.
> 
> Chapter title - Answer by Phantogram (actually my favorite song out of this playlist. Actually, if you were to associate any song with this fic, I hope it's this one.)
> 
> *Swoops isn't Swoops. Ngozi has stated his name is officially Troy. This fic has now been updated to reflect that.*


	12. Mr. Loverman

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kent realizes he’s waited too long for this to back out now.

“I just got the strangest call,” Alicia Zimmerman announces a few days after Jack returns from school.

“Oh?” Bob quirks a brow as he slices vegetables for a beef stew.

“That was Amelia Murphy,” she gestures to the landline that’s hardly been in used since Jack was in the Q. “She called to invite us to a New Year’s Eve party at her home.”

“Well that was thoughtful of her,” Bob chuckles amicably. “What do you think son?”

“I…” Jack sputters. “What did you tell her?”

“I said I’d have to check our schedule but we appreciate the invitation,” she explains logically. Alicia puts a reassuring hand on his shoulder, squeezing gently. “Jack, if you’re not comfortable we don’t have to go. It’s a—”

“I think we should go,” he insists.

His parents look amazed, bewildered really.

“Um, Kenny told me about it last week,” Jack adds with a small shrug. “I told him it was alright to invite you.”

His parents exchange glances. “I’ll give Amelia a call back,” his dad announces, taking the home phone on the way out of the kitchen.

“Sweetheart,” Alicia takes the barstool next to Jack’s, “how is Kent?”

“I…don’t know,” he admits. “He’s seeing his therapist right now. He, uh, drank last weekend. Bittle isn’t worried that he’ll relapse but…”

“You don’t have to talk about this if it’s too much,” she reminds him gently.

“I want to,” he swears.

“Ok,” Alicia nods, “but what, baby?”

Jack chokes back a bitter laugh. “He had so much. I’m surprised we didn’t wind up in the ER…He didn’t care what happened to him. He,” licks his lips. “He needed me to be ok.”

“Well maybe that’s a coping mechanism he has to deflect attention away from himself,” she rationalizes. “I’m not saying it’s healthy—”

“That’s just it,” Jack cuts her off. “I’ve been thinking for days, ‘was he always like this?’ And…Maman, I can’t think of a single time when I was on something that he wasn’t there taking care of me. Then he was worried that he wasn’t paying attention to Bittle…It’s just a lot to process.”

She’s silent for a moment. Jack knows it’s her years of media experience mixed with her fear of saying something wrong to him. “You said he was an alcoholic.”

“But an alcoholic who’s so desperate to take care of everyone else?”

“Jack,” his mother’s voice is tender and empathetic, “he needs help. He’s getting it. You’re safe.”

“What about him?” Jack doesn’t want to turn this into an argument. But he can’t stop the anxiety creeping up his spine. He focuses on keeping his tone neutral, or at the very least, as unheated as possible. “How does someone go years waiting for someone else to get better while they…destroy themselves?”

“If being in his life is too hard, that’s ok,” Alicia asserts. “Don’t feel obligated to be there for him because he was there for you. You’re different people now. You _both_ have needs.” 

“I want him to get _bette_ r,” he rephrases. “We are different. We know how to communicate. When we don’t, Bittle’s there to help. We have different triggers. We help each other because we understand…But I can’t help feeling like there’s more I could’ve done for him, back then.”

Alicia smiles sadly, “I’m sure that’s what he thought too.” 

Something important dawns on Jack. “You never told me he’s the one who found me.”

“I know,” she sighs, “at first it was just hard to think of. Mothers are supposed to protect their children; and there I was, getting a hysterical call from my son’s best friend saying he’s still breathing but—” Alicia holds back a sob.  

Jack hugs his mother fiercely.

“Everyone felt like they failed you,” she rasps.

“You didn’t—you didn’t know.”

“Ignorance doesn’t excuse anything,” Alicia pulls back, wiping her eyes on her thick grey sweater. “I remember so distinctly, how calm Kent tried to be. He was comforting your father and I at one point.”

“You kicked him out for me,” he recalls. “Why did you listen?”

“Because you were _our son_ ,” she emphasizes mournfully. “You were alive and that was all that mattered.”

“I’m sorry,” he says just the same as he’s done for the last five years.

“Don’t be,” she reminds him. “We love you. And if Kent matters to you, that’s ok.”

_/.\\_

Jack’s gotten a few snaps from Kent since the Epikegster. Normally, he gets a several snaps a day, along with random texts and links on Facebook (he’s still happy he doesn’t have a Twitter). Jack talks to Bitty daily at this point, fluctuating between trusting Kent and barely contained anxiety. He goes to his therapist a little more that week. He remembers to communicate, to think before he acts and practice his breathing exercises.

He wasn’t lying when he told Maman that things were different. Kent needed support, and he wasn’t alone in his crusade. It bothers him, however, that Kent pulled back after the Epikegster. And knowing Kenny, it was probably because he felt he’d overstayed his welcome. He makes a schedule with Bits, and then he calls Kent every other day (more often if Eric nudges him to). They watch movies and talk about nothing. It quells the fear that bubbles up now when Jack thinks of Kenny.

He wonders when he started thinking of him as Kenny again.

It’s a five-hour drive from their home in Montreal to Geneva. The route stretches on for longer than Jack remembers. The itch under his skin is exhilarating; the butterflies in his stomach don’t mangle as they normally do. The trek isn’t into uncharted territory. It feels like coming home.

The Murphy residence is small two floor home. It’s forest green exterior has a tendency of reminding Jack of Kent’s eyes. There are cars parked up and down the block. Inside, party goers are buzzing around every inch of open space on the main floor. The basement door’s open so Jack assumes the party carries down there as well.

“Jack!” he hears someone shout, Bitty.

“Hey,” he greets Bitty with a warm hug, “have you met my mom?”

“No I don’t believe I’ve had the pleasure,” Eric offers his hand and his best Bittle smile. “Hello ma’am, it’s wonderful to finally meet you. I’ve heard so many wonderful things about you from Jack and Kent.”

“The pleasure’s all mine, Eric,” she laughs, charmed. “Don’t you live in Georgia, though?”

“Oh well, we, do,” he stammers a bit. “But Kent’s a stubborn millionaire so he flew my parents, grandmother and me in two days ago. Oh, where are my manners, I’m sure Mama and MooMaw would love to meet y’all.”

They follow him through a swarming crowd of people dressed in suits and cocktail dresses. Bitty takes them to the kitchen where Suzanne and Amelia are topping off their champagne flutes. Bitty makes introductions for Alicia before turning to his grandmother.

“MooMaw, this is Jack,” he ushers Jack forward.

“It’s nice to meet you ma’am,” he says cordially.

“This is the boy?” MooMaw inquires with a scrutinizing gaze. “It’s good to meet you, but don’t think I’ve forgotten about how you turned down our invitation like that.”

“I’m sorry?” It sounds like a question, because Jack has no idea what she means.

“Mama,” Suzanne reprimands. “Kenny told us that was supposed to be a surprise. Jack had no idea he was going down to meet us.”

“He was?” Bitty squawks at the same time Jack does. “I was?”

“I…I’m sorry,” he feels the apples of his cheeks flare. “That won’t happen again.”

“You best hope it doesn’t,” she pats his shoulder in acceptance. “Still, you’re quite the looker. No wonder Kenny was head over heels for you.”

“Huh,” he hears Bitty hum.

“Bits?”

“It’s nothing, sorry,” Bitty deflects quickly.

Jack concedes for the time being. “Where is he?”

“Upstairs, I tried telling Amelia this wasn’t the best idea,” Eric mutters bitterly. “But then Kent got all polite and accommodating. You should go up, I’ll be there in a minute.”

Jack nods, slowly making his way through the crowd. Muscle memory brings him to Kent’s bedroom door. He takes a deep breath and knocks.

“Come in,” Kent shouts.

The room is almost exactly how he recalls. Every furniture piece is a light oak. For some reason, Kent painted the room navy blue when he was fourteen. Clothing litters the floor along with stacks of mystery books. His mom’s old flat screen now hangs on the wall opposite the bed.

Kit’s curled up in Kent’s lap as he flips the channel. “Why does Comedy Central like Adam Sandler? The best part of his movies is how he hires all of his friends and expects people to pay him money to watch them.”

“Maybe you need a new funny bone,” Jack chirps.  

“Hardy har har,” Kent deadpans, “you should quit your day job.”  

“We should talk about the kegster,” Jack refocuses their conversation.

“That’s literally the first time I’ve ever heard you say ‘we should talk’.”

Jack frowns, Kent sighs and sits up, he pats the space next to him on his full-sized bed.

“I’ve been talking with my therapist…a lot,” Kenny preambles. “We figured out that getting drunk was a coping mechanism to suppress my feelings and project who I wanted to be for other people. But that,” he tilts his head, “was really damaging for me physically and mentally. I spent so much time trying to force the both of us to be ‘up’ that I couldn’t deal with the bad stuff. It wasn’t just anxiety. I was fucking convinced that it was my job to keep you happy.”

“Ok,” Jack takes in the information, “but you realize—”

“That isn’t fair to us, yea,” Kent leans heavily against Jack’s shoulder. “Just like you were working on overdrive trying to make sure I got drafted?”

Jack’s face contorts in confusion. “What?”

“You used to talk me up to all the scouts when you were high and I couldn’t get to you fast enough,” he points out.

“I don’t remember that.” But then Jack thinks for a moment, groaning, “fuck I think I do. I’m sorry.”

“It’s ok,” Kent reaches for Jack’s hand. “I’m sorry I didn’t remove myself from the kegster before things got out of hand. Next time, I’ll sit on the porch with Shits or go home.”

It’s different than any other falling out they’ve had before. Because Kent understands how he contributed to the situation, and his apology is so sincere. Jack doesn’t have to wonder if things will be different afterwards. He also knows that this time, he’s going to mean it when he says he’s sorry.

“I’m sorry I dropped the ball. I forgot about the party, then you, then you at parties. It was really unprofessional of me and I understand if George doesn’t want me on your team anymore.”

“Is that what your worried about?” Kent laughs. “Jack, the spot’s yours if you want it.”

Jack takes a deep breath. “No, I’m deflecting…with hockey.”

“C’mon then,” Kent nudges him encouragingly. “Let it all out big guy.”

“I let you down,” Jack’s voice wavers.  “I don’t want to do that again.”

“It was an honest mistake,” Kenny whispers.

“This time,” Jack corrects. “I used to hurt you because it was more convenient than communicating. I want to be a better friend. You deserve that.”

“Wow,” Bitty closes the door behind himself. “Y’all are so mature now I don’t recognize you half the time.”

“I think it’s the first time we’ve talked since…everything. Since the Q,” Jack admits. “Since all the…you know.”

“No, no I don’t know Jack,” Bitty raises an eyebrow, taking the other side of the bed. “I know y’all have said some things here and there. But I can’t help and feel like I’m missing part of the story.”

“Stories are Zimms’ department,” Kent pats Jack’s knee.

 Jack chuckles quietly. “What can I tell you?”

_/.\\_

_Once upon a time there was a prince. From a young age, he knew he was destined for greatness, for he knew that one day he would inherit the kingdom from his father._

_But the prince also had a secret. He was scared of failure. Terrified of it. So completely frightened of not being as good a king as his father, that he would stay up every night braced with the fear of mediocrity._

_And so the prince took a medicine to calm his anxiety._

_And he slew trolls!_

_And he took more…_

_And he slew dragons!_

_But one day he took too much._

_And nearly lost everything_

But this isn’t just his story.

_Deep within the heartlands of the Queen’s domain lay a village. In the village lived a knight and a squire. They trained, fought, and loved together. The knight would go off on missions, leaving the squire to fend for the village. The village was often pillaged by barbarians._

_Although the knight came back to defend his land when possible, he couldn’t be the region’s sole protector._

_One day, the knight left to battle for the King and Queen. He made sure the squire was a proper knight before leaving. The young squire faced many barbarians. Sometimes, he came out worse for wear. But he fought valiantly nevertheless._

_Meanwhile the original knight became the second in command for the young prince. They fought side by side in many wars. The knight swore to always protect the prince. He slew beasts for days upon days, just so they would never reach the prince. Despite his best efforts, he was the one who ultimately saved the prince from his own medication._

_The prince was banished. The kingdom would not have him. He was the talk of the countryside. His family loved him, but he was too locked in turmoil to notice. But the prince would concoct a plan. He would venture back to the land of the Queen. There he would reclaim greatness.  And thereby gain entrance to the kingdom._

_While the prince reclaimed his throne, he entrusted his knight with the kingdom. The knight took on his throne in the interim, fighting valiantly in the bleak outlands of the kingdom. He rose to greatness; claiming each foe in the name of his once and future king. What he didn’t realize is all those years spent training the squire and defending the prince were about to come to good use._

_You see, the squire (now knight) ventured further north in search of his own quest. There, he was appointed by the knight to protect the prince. The knight felt his young liege would succeed where he had once failed._

_In time the brave knights learned to fight together once more. The knights were the prince’s closest confidents. Their prince grew into a mighty king who could in turn love and protect them as they once had him. They slew dragons, trolls, and barbarians alike. Trials riddled the path ahead of them. Monsters and traitors were around every corner._

_This time, however, no one fought alone. They journeyed forth as a unit, destined for happiness._

_All was well in the realm, as long as they had each other._

_/.\\_

They fall asleep on top of each other not long after that. Kent is roused from his slumber by the sound of shouting.

_Fifteen_

_Fourteen_

_Thirteen_

He tilts his head up slightly, realizing he’s drooled a puddle on Jack’s sweater. His head’s comfortably being cradled between Jack’s arm and the crook of his neck.

_Twelve_

He’s half asleep and they’re in the room where they had their first kiss. He feels a little impulsive. He leans in closer.

_Eleven_

He lips hover over Jack’s chin. It’s nothing more than a peck, quick, skittish, almost platonic. Almost.

_Ten_

A deep breath retracts his attention. Only then does he notice the way Eric’s hand in laid on top of his at the center of Jack’s chest. He stiffens slightly.

_Nine_

His gaze meets Bitty’s. His mouth has a small twitch to it and his eyes look resigned yet hopeful. Kent can practically hear Dicky chastising him _oh, you romantic fool._

_Eight_

Kent’s been known to make impulsive, rash decisions. He knows the twist in his gut when something’s about to go horribly wrong and he wants to do it anyway. Now doesn’t feel like that at all. The air around them feels charged with excitement and _want_.

_Seven_

He lifts his head, leaning closer to Bitty’s head, hovering over Jack’s sleeping form. He hopes he isn’t wrong, but he needs to try.

_Six_

Eric’s craning his neck too, meeting Kent halfway.

_Five_

Their faces are a centimeter apart. Kent can hear Bitty’s breathing pick up.

_Four_

They’re staring at each other expectantly. Someone’s got to give.

_Three_

Kent realizes he’s waited too long for this to back out now.

_Two_

He pushes himself slightly forward.

_One_

Bitty’s lips are everything he forgot he wanted. They’re the warmth of the hot Georgia sun and a fresh maple apple pie. They’re the electric chill of a rocket pop that Mama only bought on his birthday. The kiss is the rush of getting on the ice with the people he trusts most in the world—his family, his team, his best friends. It’s the firmness of Eric’s voice when Kent’s getting his ass handed to him about this or that. It’s the strong embrace of a guy he fell in love with in the kitchen of a frat house. It’s the precision of sinking the puck into the top of the net mixed with the compassion of someone who knows him better than anyone. It’s the relief he feels when he bites into a peanut butter and jelly sandwich.

They break a part, both panting. Eric’s eyes look dazed and hungry, but most of all he looks like he’s so fucking happy. It makes Kent’s heart leap. There are still shouts and cheers coming from downstairs.

“I love you,” he whispers without thinking.

Bitty smiles at him fondly, opening his mouth—

Jack’s chest expands deeply. They break their staring contest to look down at him; his eyes are squinting but his gazed is fixed softly on them. Like he didn’t expect anything less.  There’s a gleam in his blue irises that Kenny’s seen a handful of times; when they won the Memorial Cup, the first time they kissed, the first time they fucked, and the first-time Kent said ‘I love you’.

Kent shifts closer, hovering over Jack’s face. He tilts his head so their noses are on either side of each other, the way he used to before they made out behind closed doors.

“Tell me to stop,” Kent commands him, inching even closer.

Jack stares at him for a moment, licking his lips. “Not this time.”

He takes his shot. And suddenly, he’s sixteen again at his mom’s house for the weekend. He’s kissing Jack with all the fervor, love, and anxiety as the first time—maybe even more anxiety than back then. Jack responds enthusiastically, not as forceful as he remembers but more kind. Jack’s lips feel like the bite of the wind on a morning run in Rimouski. He can still hear Arcade Fire playing on Jack’s laptop and the taste of old fashion glazed Timbits on a cheat day. But this kiss is more than a faded memory. It’s the softness of the beanies Jack wears now that make him look like a regular guy. It’s the breathtaking quality of the voice that hums along to Beyoncé when Bitty’s hardly paying attention. It’s remembering that he was his own person before Jack, and after Jack.

It’s remembering that peanut butter and jelly are two drastically different foods that somehow work, and make him happy. Like a history geek and a baker boy throwing snow balls at each other only to turn against him. It’s remembering that for everything he’s gone through, they’re still just people reaching out to each other.

Kent backs off, just a little to give Jack breathing room. Jack’s cheeks are flushed and his mouth has this soft slack to it that it does when Jack is in blown away by something. He looks back at Dicky with concern. Eric doesn’t seem jealous or sad. If anything, Kent swears he looks impatient. Kent nudges Jack’s shoulder, tilting his head towards Bitty.

Jack’s leaning up a bit more, putting himself close to Bitty. Bitty is pressing their foreheads together, searching Jack’s eyes in askance. True to form, Jack stops thinking and just does. They kiss like they’ve been apart for years, lifetimes even. Kent knew on an objective level that seeing the people he wants more than anything in this world kissing so tenderly might hurt. But contrary to that, he just feels love. He feels like they were always meant to be in this place, the three of them, together.

Kent doesn’t notice they’ve stopped making out until they’re both waiting for him to speak.

“Bad idea?”  

“No,” Jack rasps.

“Happy New Year,” Bitty chuckles awkwardly.

Kent laughs, kissing Bitty’s nose, “happy new year.”  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title - Mr Loverman by Ricky Montgomery


	13. Anything Could Happen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> But Eric knows that falling in love isn’t a spark that comes from meeting eyes in a crowded locker room. It’s from building trust and admiration. It’s the first check he gave after a year of practices; a minuscule moment to anyone else that amounts for everything to him.

It’s been months and months of a bittersweet nightmare, Eric thinks to himself. First it was letting Kenny back into his life. Then it was accepting that whatever Bitty had wanted between them would have to wait; and the more horrifying realization that even if they got there some day, he would always be living in Jack’s shadow. But the way Kent looks at him when they catch each other by accident is the same lovesick eyes he gives to Jack. Then, despite his drunken haze, Bitty still mattered to Kent. He couldn’t ignore that.

He didn’t know what to do with himself when he wakes up the day after the Epikegster and they’re all a ball of limbs, for the twelfth time in just as many weeks. Bitty ignores the softness in Jack’s voice when they wake up, asking if he slept alright. He pays no mind to the way Kent kisses his cheek, brushing it off as him sobering up. He tries not to look back at Kent and Jack while they’re helping clean the Haus, only to find them looking back at him just as often as each other.

They glance every few seconds, as if they’re checking to see the other’s still there. Their exchanges are subtle but profound. They bump shoulders and hips more tenderly than his own parents kiss. Bitty knows that these are practiced motions from years of being together. They’re functioning as if the years and pain have ebbed away.

And at the end of the day, Bitty knows they would do anything to protect each other. It’s why Kent had made himself Jack’s keeper, and why Jack had in turn pushed him away. He can see the way they’re both yearning to touch each other, to love each other like they’d never been apart. He knows that he’s been fretting over them for months; over the idea of disrupting their steady reconciliation, or getting so entangled that one day he’d wake up alone, confused, and hurt. But life goes on, and here are two men that he’s head over heels for; they’re waiting on him. If only he had the courage to jump in head first.

_/.\\_

Bitty thinks he’s going to be too busy to miss Kent and Jack. Boy, has he never been more wrong. After the fifth day of break (three before they’re expected in New York), he can’t deny how they wormed their way into every crevice of his life. And how much he wants to be theirs.

They pass out on Kent’s childhood bed long before midnight, and Eric thinks that’s fitting. They have a history that runs deeper than any of their personal demons. It took them a while to get here, but Eric looks at them and he knows he wants this more than anything. His eyes are half-lidded as he watches Kenny blissfully kiss Jack like he’d forgotten what happiness was. It makes Bitty chuckle inwardly, they’d come so far but there was still so far to go. He needed Kent to see himself the way they did; he needed Jack to share his burdens more willingly; and he knew he needed to take more chances. He needed to let them catch him whenever he fell.

He can only imagine how he’s looking at Kent when he notices. Kenny creeps in closer and Eric can feel their whole lives together flicker through his eyes. He can see every conversation, every hug, and every promise. He can see every almost and every could be. Part of him briefly wonders what could’ve happened the summer of 2009. If they’d just made it down to Georgia would that have changed anything? Would he have been the best man at Kent and Jack’s wedding by now? Would he and Kent still be friends through all those years? Were he and Jack always meant to meet? The second Kent’s lips touch his, none of that matters anymore. Because he’s in this moment, and Kent wants him, l _oves him_ even.

They break apart almost as fast as they come together. Kent’s saying, ‘I love you’ and Bitty has to bite back at laugh. Of course, he did, it hits Bitty. They’d been in love with each other for as long as they knew what it meant to be in love. He’s about to say it back when Jack interrupts them. Jack’s looking at Kent, Kent’s leaning in. He hears the words coming out of their mouths, but he also hears what they’re _saying_.

“Tell me to stop.” _Push me away. I’m not good enough for you.  I can’t hurt you again. I need you. I love you. I never stopped loving you._

“Not this time.” _You won’t hurt me. I hurt you too. I’m sorry. I’m sorry that I never said I loved you too. I love you._

They’re kissing each other and this proverbial weight slips off Bitty’s shoulders. Even when they were apart, they cared so intensely about the other.  Even when they thought they were doing the right thing, they were pushing each other away. They’re _in love_ , and maybe it isn’t perfect (and it would never be).

But Eric knows that falling in love isn’t a spark that comes from meeting eyes in a crowded locker room. It’s from building trust and admiration. It’s the first check he gave after a year of practices; a minuscule moment to anyone else that amounts for everything to him. It’s getting help in the kitchen and realizing that you’ve fallen into perfect sync with each other. It’s getting ambushed by one with a pillow only to team up with the other, because you’re a _team_. It’s making an old friend’s apartment so comfortable that he counts down the days until he could drive _home to Providence_.

Before he knows it, he’s right in Jack’s space. Jack’s face is right there and he wants to do something, so badly. But he can’t pretend that he isn’t scared of rejection. Jack takes the chance for him. It startles him for a second, he’s still flabbergasted that Jack could want him. That insecurity ebbs with the tide of emotions left in the kisses wake. Suddenly he knows that falling doesn’t mean crashing. This time he can see what lies ahead. He doesn’t care if he spends the next ten years living in Providence; if one gets sent to San Jose while the other goes to DC; or even if they all get split up for a few years along the way. He wants whatever they can give him: a house in the suburbs with two kids and three foster kids or an apartment with just Kit. He wants Jack Laurent Zimmermann and Kent Virgil Parson just as they are, now and for as long as they’ll have him.

Jack’s staring back at him. They’re both gasping for air, and they’re looking at Kent who of course (of course) thinks he screwed up. They’ll have to talk more later. But Bitty’s can hear himself lamely saying “happy new year.” Which Kent responds to with another kiss.

“I love you,” Bitty affirms.

“I know,” Kent chirps with a lazily grin.

“Hush,” Bitty snorts, “and I don’t want to jump the gun here but I think I love you too Jack. No wait, I know I’m in love with you.”

“Bits, I love you too,” Jack smiles softly. His eyes flicker to Kent. He leans in closer, Kent follows suit. “I love you, Kenny,” his voice is barely above a whisper. “I. Love. You,” he punctuates each word with a kiss.

“I,” Kent’s voice wavers, “I love you. I love you both so much.”

“We know, baby,” Bitty pecks his cheek. “Y’all know there’s a lot we gotta talk about.”

Kent groans, hiding his face in the crook of Bitty’s neck. “You know I’m right, Kent Virgil.”

“I know,” Kenny huffs, “fuck so there’s do we date now? Do we date later? What about our parents? The team? Ugh.”

“Which team?” Jack inquires seriously.

“Well since you don’t know where you’re signing yet, I meant Samwell,” Kent dramatically falls against his pillow. “But fair warning I’m out to the Falcs.”

“Since when?” Jack frowns.

“Six months, give or take,” he explains. “It was easier than I thought it would be.”

“Well, y’all we better get started,” Bitty considers making a pot of coffee, or moving downstairs once the party crowd has dissipated.

“Right now? But it’s New Year,” Kent groans half-heartedly.

“Exactly, no time like the present,” Eric reasons.

Kent nods in understanding.

Jack hums thoughtfully, settling against the bedframe. “Where do we start?”

_/.\\_

 “So those are boobs,” Dex declares of one of the pieces at Lardo’s Junior Art Show.

“Hm! But what if they’re something else? Like faceoff circles!” Chowder argues.

“Wait, C, you and the volleyball girl are official, right?” Nursey leers. “So you know what a pair _looks_ like.”

“Wow really,” a voice behind them startles the three. Kent’s smirking at them in a three-piece suit, “that was like, the most hetero thing I’ve heard you say. Like _ever_.”

Nursey blushes, while Kent pats him on the back reassuringly. 

“Bro!” Kent turns around, and Lardo’s barreling into him.

“Hey Lards,” he ruffles her hair as he hugs her tightly, “you didn’t think I would miss an op to praise your bad-assery, didja?”

“Pshh, you just want to steal some of my sweet art,” she swats his hand away.

“Anyone would be stupid not to love your ‘swawesome shit,” he maintains.

“Looks like we’re rubbing off on the big hockey star,” Nursey chirps.

“Guys, what if the rest of the Falcs start saying ‘swawesome? What if the entire NHL starts using it?” Chowder gasps, “what if Niemi says it?”

“…Yo Shits, you okay, man?” Kent hears Ransom say.

“…Um.”

“What is it?” Lardo and Kent ask.

“I…” Shitty stammers, “got into Harvard.”

Everyone’s congratulating him. There’s a hardly any space while the team turns into a dogpile of well wishes and affection. Lardo, in the commotion, sneaks off.  Bitty and Kent notice. Bitty looks hesitant, but before he can make a move, Kent’s bolting towards the exit. He finds Lardo leaning against the building. Her eyes are closed, chin tilted towards the sky as she cries quietly. He notices her shiver (it’s thirty degrees out in February, for fuck’s sake). She doesn’t notice him until she feels a coat slip over her shoulders. She jumps slightly. He catches the disappointment that flashes in her eyes before she looks at the sidewalk.

“Sorry,” he grins sheepishly. “I know I’m not who you want out here.”

“You’re gonna have to shut up with that self-effacing bullshit,” she catches a stray tear with her knuckle.

“Yea,” he agrees awkwardly. “I…look there’s something I wish someone had told me a long time ago. I think it might help.”

“Shoot,” Lardo nods quickly.

“Things are going to change,” he takes a deep breath. “You know this. You’ve always known that this phase of your life has a time limit.”

“Gee, Parse, that’s—”

“I’m not done yet,” he stops her. “That doesn’t mean your relationship has an expiration date. It might not be easy all the time. But you know what? Good people don’t leave you, even if you both need to step back for a while. You’ll find your way back to each other time and time again. It will be fine. You’re not losing him. And fuck if you aren’t the strongest person I know, Lardo.”

Lardo sniffles, throwing herself onto him. “From a scale of one to a hundred, you’re an infinity on the friendship scale. Thanks, Kent.”

“Anything for my bestie,” he slings an arm around her shoulders, drawing her into a bone-crushing hug.

Lardo snorts, “don’t call me that in front of the guys.”

“And when they’re not around?”

“’ts fine, “ Lardo concedes, “you’re my absolute bffl, bro.”

“‘Swawesome,” he knows ‘operation make Lardo feel less shitty about Shitty’ isn’t over, “wanna see a new pic of Kit?”

“Always.” 

_/.\\_

_Welcome to the finals of the 2015 NCAA Men’s Ice Hockey Championship. Presented by Northwestern Mutual. It’s Christmas in April here: the Red of Samwell University and the Green of North Dakota, painting the inside of TD Garden._

_Heartbreak last year, redemption this year for Samwell? A year ago, they had come this far in Philadelphia. Let’s see if they have what it takes to beat arguably the best team in college hockey right now._

_So proud and honored to be in Boston to bring you this classic hockey game between North Dakota and Samwell._

_I’m John Buccigross this is Barry Melrose. All eyes are on Jack Zimmermann tonight as he leads his team in a second consecutive run at the title. What can we expect from Zimmermann tonight?_

**_We’ll see a guy who’s extremely focused. A guy whose hands are as quick as his eyes. Most likely, we’ll see his opening bid for next year’s Calder._ **

_So you think he’s likely to get signed this year?_

**_Without a doubt, John. But you know who we should be talking about? His line mate, number 15._ **

_Right, at five foot six, Eric Bittle, a dynamic winger to be sure._

**_Dynamic? The kid’s practically untouchable. One of the best skaters to ever come out of the NCAA by far.  He was touch-and-go his freshman year. But now? If anyone can get on him, they quickly regret it. This kid can take and give checks like someone twice his size. I don’t think we’ve seen a duo as in sync as them outside of the NHL since…well since the days of the Zimmermann-Parson-No-Look-One-Timer._ **

_So, you’re saying Zimmermann’s the key?_

**_Maybe. Maybe he has some secret to bringing out the best in his wingers. Or maybe there’s a spark that only comes around once in a blue moon and Zimmermann hit the jackpot twice._ **

_It’s sure to be one exciting game. Let’s go to center ice where the puck is about to drop._

_/.\\_

_We are still tied at 3 with eight minutes left in the third period. No one has scored so far this period. It seems Zimmermann’s hat trick did a lot to slow down Dakota’s momentum. But will it be enough to win the championship?_

_O’Neill’s moving in, gets blocked by Nurse. Nurse skates around, flicking it up to Zimmermann._

_Zimmermann to Bittle, spinorama, and oh! Eric Bittle scores!_

_It’s now a number’s game for Samwell. Can they keep Dakota out of their zone for the remainder of the game?_

_/.\\_

“Y’all aren’t mad at me, are you?”

Jack is startled out of his post-game musings. He looks over his shoulder. Bitty’s freshly showered, his shaggy hair sticking firmly to his forehead.

“Why would I be mad at you?” It comes out a little sharp, so Jack takes a deep breath. “Bits, you scored the winning goal. How could I be mad at you for that?”

“I don’t know,” Eric won’t meet Jack’s gaze. “I keep thinking about that game last year against Yale. This…this is your dream, Jack, your career. If anyone deserved to make that goal, it was you.”

“Hey,” he wraps an arm around Bitty’s shoulder, pulling him in for a hug. “I passed to you, because I knew you could make that goal. We’re a team, Bits. That was _our_ victory.”

Bitty ducks his head to hide his blushing.

“It probably doesn’t hurt that you have another ten plus years to make game winning goals,” someone chimes in from behind. Kent is leaning against the door, smirking.

“Shouldn’t you be at a game or something?” Jack chirps.

“Because you’re what? Keeper of my schedule?”

Bitty rolls his eyes, fighting back a laugh. “Do I have to put y’all in separate corners?”

Kent chuckles, “no, I just wanted to come back here and see what was taking my two favorite hockey players so long.”

“Your two favorite huh?” Bitty smirks. “Who’s your first favorite?”

“You’re tied, don’t worry,” Kenny insists lightly.

“I’m calling bullshit, sir,” Eric says with a haughty tone.

“What? No, nope, not doing this,” Kent throws his hands in surrender. “Back me up here, Zimms. You’re both my favorite.”

Jack responds with a straight face, “there can be only one.”

Kent balks at him, “did you just make a fucking Highlander reference?”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Jack quirks a brow. “I’m just a simple Canadian, set in my ways.”

Bitty stares at him very intensely before huffing, “one of these days you’re going to slip, Mr. Zimmerman.”

“So uh,” Kent steps forward. “Can we get this show on the road? I believe you have somewhere to be tonight.”

“Where?” Jack asks while he finishes dressing.

“Shitty said something about ‘the biggest kegster of our young lives’,” Kent quotes with a poor impression of Shitty’s Boston accent.

Bitty feels conflicted. He wants to celebrate their win. But the only people he really wants to be with are right in front of him. And there’s no way he’s subjecting Kent to a party this close to post-season.

He feels Jack claps a hand on his shoulder. “How about we grab dinner instead, eh?”

“Oh,” Kent startles for a moment. “Fuck yea, I’d love that. Uh, if that’s what you want Bitty?”

He doesn’t even have to think about it. “Dinner sounds lovely.”

_/.\\_

The next week, Jack’s presenting his project to his photography class.

“Visually, it’s interesting how you consistently associate this character with warmth. While this character,” his professor points from Bitty to Kent. “Is associated mostly with turmoil.”

“What,” Jack squints at the photographs. “Oh. Well.”

“Yeah, I really like these character portraits? Like how you’re constantly catching the light in his face? Or backlighting him?” his classmate, Simone, chimes in.

“Oh,” Jack shrugs, “yeah I guess so.”

“I like your effective use of cropping. How with this guy,” Dante points to Bitty. “You always see his face. But this guy with the crazy eyes is always obscured to some degree. Either he’s partially shown or underexposed or we view him from behind another object. Like we can’t see who he truly is. Except this photo.” 

The picture in question of Kent and Bitty in Kent’s apartment sitting together. Kent’s got an arm slung around Bitty’s shoulder as Bitty laughs at the television. They’re unaware of their role as Jack took it from the kitchen. But the angle of which the afternoon light enters the apartment gives them equal amount of light and contrast. He was close enough that he could properly catch their features without disrupting the scene.

“I would take that analysis a step further,” Vanessa begins, “by contending that it isn’t that the smaller guy is revealing himself. I think while the second guy values privacy, this guy crafts a public façade to shield himself. But like Dante said, I think this photo speaks volumes of their relationship.”

“They’re not together,” Jack says hurriedly. Which is a blatant lie, but what if someone recognized Kent?  

Vanessa shrugs, “still, they clearly know each other well.”

“So you had the campus and geese portraits and then these guys?” Kris asks.

“No it’s the campus pictures and then my teammates,”Jack clarifies.  

“Oh, well, they’re in all the second set of pictures?” Kris brings up.

“Oh, Bittle’s one of my teammates,” he laughs awkwardly. “He’s kind of small but he’s on the hockey team.”

“And the other guy?” Kris persists.

“He was my teammate. He’s supportive of our team. I think that counts.” 

“I believe your classmates are saying they seem to be the subjects of your second set of photos,” their professor intervenes.

“Yeah, I decided to use my teammates as my subjects.”

She looks at him quizzically. “But these teammates in particular?”

“They’re around a lot.”

“Uh, aight, so,” Greg cuts in, “I think what everyone’s saying is—we KNOW you did your team as your subject for group 2? But these guys are in ALL of you your photos. Like, even if they are around a lot, it’s like you made them the subject of your compositions. If one isn’t there, the other is. And yo, they’re successful and all! But what I’m saying—it’s like you’re implicitly saying that they’re important to your team and bring out the best in each other. Least that’s what I see.”

“Well, they did grow up together,” Jack comments.  “But they’re just great teammates.”

“Let’s move on to the geese,” the professor claps her hands impatiently.

_/.\\_

 “I mean, Seattle’s fanbase is dece, but nowhere near what the Falcs have,” Ransom argues. The team commandeered a lecture hall to discuss Jack’s signing options.

“And didn’t you rank location pretty high?” Bitty points out as he paces the front of the room, “that’s awful far.”

“You also ranked ice time and team feel really high brah, if you’re going expansion, I’d still lean toward more cap space,” Shitty rehashes.

“Dude, totally honest?” Holster grabs Jack’s attention, “when it’s ice time versus cash, a few hundy k doesn’t matter to you, right?”

“…Well,” Jack considers. “Not really.”

“‘Swawesome.”

“Sick, then excel’s telling me Seattle and Boston are super out,” Ransom announces.   

Jack already knows who he’ll pick. He knows what makes the most sense. But there’s something holding him back. It’s hard to admit, or even talk about with the rest of the team. It’s times like these where he’s thankful for having Bitty around. He puts the conversation off until the next afternoon. He and Bitty are the only ones around, and he knows Eric has a full day of baking for the Falcs and their spouses to get through.

“How much do you charge for all of this?” Jack chirps him as he enters the kitchen.

“Enough to cover costs, and then some,” Bitty waves him off as he works on the lattice for a blueberry pie. “Need something?”

“Yes, actually,” he plops himself down at the table “I’m worried.”

“About what?”

“Signing with the Falconers.”

Bitty sighs, “give me a minute, sweetpea. Y’all deserve my undivided attention.”

Bitty finishes the upper crust, and carefully places it in the oven. He dusts off his hands before taking a seat across from Jack. “Now, tell me exactly what you’re concerned about.”

“I know we can play well,” he reasons. “I know we’re different. And…you’re close by.”

“But…” Bitty must see the grief flicker across Jack’s face. “Lord, y’all are gonna drive the Falconers’ therapist off the wall. What are you scared of? That you’ll hurt each other?”

“No,” Jack answers automatically before amending, “yes.”

Bitty’s expression is unimpressed. “Jack Laurent Zimmermann, I know you’re stubborn but don’t be silly.”

“Excuse me?” Jack croaks.

“Honey, there will be risks no matter where you go, and that would be true even if you weren’t dating him. That’s what life is all about.” He stretches across the table, pecking Jack’s temple. “Y’all are still a long way from trusting each other completely. You gotta decide if it’s worth being around him all the time.”  

“What would you do?”

Bitty smirks indulgently, “get my own apartment for one thing. You boys get in each other’s faces all the time. I know I would want my own space so no matter if we were hyped up or cross with each other, we wouldn’t feel like we’re forced to make up right away because we’re roommates.”

“So,” Jack pauses, “it’s worth the risk?”

“Darlin’, anything in this world is worth it if _you_ think it’s worth the risk,” Bitty assures him.

“Thanks, Bits.”

“Don’t mention it, I’m happy to help.” Bitty frowns slightly, adding, “just…consider talking to him first.”

Jack nods. Inspiration hits, and he shoots up out of his seat. He scrambles around the kitchen for a minute, getting things together. Bitty watches him, bemused. Jack grabs something from the cabinet next to the oven.

“Jack, here.” Bitty holds out the keys to his truck.

Jack smiles softly, bending down to accept them. He acts on reflex, and this inexplicable joy at finally (finally) making his decision. He kisses Bitty firmly on the lips.  

Jack blushes when he realizes what he’s done, “I don’t think I’ll be back until the morning.”

Bitty’s face is just as bright, “go on, have your moment. I’ll be here when you get back.” 

Jack smiles, heading out.

_/.\\_

The Falcs have their first game against the Capitals the next morning. Kent’s thinking about turning in early when there’s a knock on his door. He checks the peephole. Jack?

“Dude, the fuck?” He curses out loud, opening the door anyway. “Come in?”

“Thanks,” Jack closes the door behind him, kissing Kent as soon as the door clicks.

Kent moans, deepening the kiss. Then he remembers that this visit is completely unexpected. “Zimms, not that I don’t enjoy you dropping by unannounced but…why?”

Without preamble, he hands Kent his blue lunchbox. Kent, still perplexed, opens it up. Two sandwiches, a K labeled on one of them.

“Thanks?” Kent assessing them, still confused. “Wanna sit down?”

“Yea,” Jack settles onto the couch easily.

And fuck if Kent didn’t want to see the three of them on this couch every night. Kent suppresses a grin after he bites into his. He does not, however, hold back his moan.

“You drove forty plus minutes here to give me a sandwich,” he reasserts.

“Something like that,” Jack smiles playfully.

“You seem to also have a sandwich.”

“Very observant,” Jack chirps.  

Kent rolls his eyes, “wanna tell me why?”

Jack shrugs, “you have a game tomorrow. I know you prefer it when you eat your sandwich with teammates.”

“Teammates?” Kent chokes momentarily.

Jack stands up to check on him.

“You’re shitting me?” Kent gawks.

“No, Kenny,” Jack murmurs, rubbing the kink out of Kent’s shoulder.

“You’re doing this?” Kent reiterates slowly, “you’re signing with them?”

“Yes,” Jack guarantees, “I promised you we’d play together again.”

Kent’s eyes twinkle, he chuckles softly, “you sentimental sap. We were seventeen.”

“So?”

“So nothing, I—come here you asshole,” he pulls Jack into a massive hug.

“Get off me,” Jack laughs.

“Never,” Kent hisses jokingly. They’re in stitches when he lets go of Jack.  

They stand up a little too close to one another. Kent flinches at their proximity, but Jack holds him steady.

“We’ll be ok,” Jack tells him. Their foreheads touching, he tilts his head, pecking Kent on the temple.

“I know,” Kent protests. “We’re, like, adults capable of real conversations and healthy emotions or some shit like that.”

_/.\\_  

“Told you he would cry,” Lardo grins.

“Never doubted you for a moment,” Kenny agrees.

Bitty’s crying into Jack’s shoulder. The Haus is full of SMH members, celebrating Bitty’s birthday (but also hoping he’ll bake for the first time in weeks). Lardo and Kent are squabbling in living room.

“You think he’s gonna slobber on all of us like that?”

“Not a chance,” Kent waves her off, “he knows this has Jack written all over it.”

“And the couch?” She gives him a pointed look.

“What about it?”

“Bro,” she nudges his shoulder, “you totally bought him a couch because you were major crushing on him.”

“Your point?”

“Does it make you jealous that you had to share credit with Jack last year?”

“Fuck no, Jack wasn’t stealing my thunder, he just…needed help y’know? Besides,” he adds, “Dicky deserves the world. That includes Zimms.”

“Do you even hear yourself right now?” Lardo glares.

“What? No, I didn’t mean like that.”

“Then what did you mean?” She persists.

“I meant they can have their own shit separate from me,” he amends. “It’s how these relationships work or something.”

 “Kenny,” Jack peers around the living room until he finds him. Jack gestures him closer.

“Well duty calls,” he grunts as he gets up from the couch

“Try not to hurt yourself, old man,” Lardo chirps.

Kent ruffles her hair. He casually throws an arm around Jack. He thinks nothing of it until he feels an arm wrap around his waist. He blushes, hiding his face in Jack’s shoulder. Jack quirks a brow at him before laughing.

“You’re so mean to me,” Kenny pouts.

“Sorry?”

“No, you’re not,” he snorts.

“I know,” Jack grins easily. “C’mon, Bittle wants your help with his mini pies.”

“Pfft, like you couldn’t help him.”

“Don’t worry,” Bitty declares, “Jack’s doing his part.”

Kent grabs his apron from the rack they mounted earlier that day, tossing Jack his.

“Damn, Parse, it’s like you live here or something,” Nursey chirps.

“Or something,” Jack agrees.

Kent blushes.

“Less yapping more rolling,” Bitty orders. “Now I’m happy I made some crust dough yesterday.”

“Only you, Bits,” Kent murmurs.

“You love me and you know it,” Eric chides.

Kent gets this dumb, happy look on his face. He thinks Jack sees it, but makes no mention of it.

“Yea you’re right.”

_/.\\_

“On the count of three,” Kent instructs the group. “One, two, three.” He checks the display of Jack’s camera. The entire SMH gang (Johnson included) is posing for a post-graduation picture.

“Cool,” Johnson says as he takes the camera from Kent. “Thanks for keeping some aspects of canon intact, bro. Now get in there.” He gestures to the group.

“Seriously?”

“Parse, don’t be lame, just get over here,” Shitty commands him.

“You sure?” He gets behind Lardo.

“Does Ransom survive on coffee, flashcards and excel?” Holster responds.

“Wow ok,” he flashes a smile just as Johnson takes the shot.

The group breaks up slowly, people saying their farewells and making plans. Kent’s getting lost in the buzz of the crowd. Goodbye is a strange concept. He knows Bitty’s still going to be here, and Shits isn’t going to be that far away. Fuck, he gets to see Jack almost every single day and it’s been years since that’s been possible. Yet, as the world shifts around him, he feels stagnant. Something’s going to give, he thinks.

“Don’t be so nervous,” Johnson claps him on the back. “You’ve already faced the worst in your backstory. Not to spoil the ending for you, but everything’s going to be okay.”

“You really think so?”

“For sure, bro,” Johnson smiles broadly.  “You’re definitely going to have some setbacks, because what relationship doesn’t, right? But that’s for another story. You deserve a good long break, and like, happiness.”

“You are literally the greatest person who’s ever existed,” Kent blurts out. Because Johnson had this way of always saying the right thing at the right time.

“I don’t know about that,” Johnson shrugs unassumingly, “I am just the canon personification of Deus ex machina.”

Kent tilts his head. He knows goalies are naturally weird, but Johnson always tells him shit like it is. “If you say so. I think you’re a little more important than that, though.”

“Bro,” he offers Kent a fist bump. “Anyway, don’t shut them out and just, y’know, trust your gut. You’ll get a hang of things eventually.”

“Sweet,” Kent nods absent mindedly as he walks away. “What did you say he does for a living?” He leans over to the closest person.

“I think he writes or travels or something,” Lardo supplies.

“I bet he writes for _The_ _Walking Dead_ ,” Kent mutters.

“Kenny let’s get a move on,” Bitty calls out to him.

“Bits is crashing with you?” Lardo asks, although she knew he was coming down for the summer. Maybe she assumed that he was staying with Jack.

“Yep,” he pops the p for emphasis.

“All summer?”

“Pretty much,” he stares at her wearily.

“You don’t see a problem with that? Has the possibility of your place being redecorated five times or your cat relocating to the Haus entered your mind?”

“No,” but now that it had he was mildly concerned.

“Ok just,” Lardo pinches the bridge of her nose, “don’t be a dummy. Take care of yourself. Them too, but don’t forget about _you_.”

“You too kettle,” he hugs her one last time for good measure.

“Whatever, pot,” she snorts.

“Kent Virgil!” Bitty yells, “we’re gonna be late for dinner at this rate.”

“Dicky, dinner’s in four hours,” Kent protests.

“We still gotta put a few boxes into the truck.”

 “Fine,” Kenny relents. “Hey Zimms, you coming?”

Jack nods, telling his parents that they’ll meet them in Providence.

“Don’t dawdle,” Alicia warns them with a knowing smirk.

“Do you think she knows?” Bitty asks when they’re out of ear shot.

“She probably suspects something, but she’s probably missing a piece of the puzzle,” he claims.

“Lord,” Eric mutters, “we’ll tell them soon, right?”

“I was thinking maybe after the playoffs?” Kenny suggest, “so if they decide to meddle we can deal with it together?”

“What about the team?” Jack contends.  

“Ehhh the longer we go without paying fines the better,” Kent shivers slightly. “Lardo says we owe them enough for a new AC system at this point.” 

They walk the rest of the way mostly in silence. Eric gets a few light jostles, and some hand brushing along the way. He knows that the little moments are going to matter a lot until they’ve figured out how to come out publicly. It worries him some days, but it’s a work in progress. Shitty and Lardo know, soon their parents will know too. Heck, the Falconers know something’s up, but that can wait until after the playoffs. Good things take time, and Bitty trusts his boys.

Kent still can’t believe his life. Two years ago, he was barely getting by, and now look at him in his sharpest grey suit leaving one boyfriend’s graduation to help the other move into his place for the summer.  The sun’s peeking through the row of trees overhead. The May breeze is still brittle from a long winter, but there’s a promise of things to come. Kenny _hopefully_ has a few weeks of hockey left. Then it’s a summer of uninterrupted Dicky and Zimms time, he can hardly wait.  

It takes them fifteen minutes to load the rest of Bitty’s things into the truck. Jack sheds his graduation gown after the first trip up and down the stairs. Once they’ve got everything, they’re standing in the doorway of Jack’s old room. Some of Chowder’s belongings have already made their way onto the bed. Other than that, the bedroom is bare. All traces of Jack Zimmermann have been erased. He’s amazed by how much has happened in this place over the last three years. The times Kent fought for a place in his life, and the way Bitty nudged his way in while pulling Kenny along. How Shitty taught him to let people in, Ransom taught him to accept his anxiety, Holster taught him to smile more, and Lardo taught him to trust himself. He thinks about how he found himself again in these walls, as did Bitty and Kent. Jack can hardly believe that a place that was supposed to be a holding period before the NHL brought him friends, family, love, and happiness.

“We should probably head out,” Kenny takes his hand, gently pulling him away.

“Do you think you’ll miss it around here?” Bitty asks softly.

Jack considers his answer for a moment. “Maybe,” he admits, “it’s the people that make the home.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title - Anything Could Happen by Ellie Goulding (this is from Bitty's pregame playlist but it's pretty fitting)  
> Shout out to Breathing Underwater by Metric because it gave me the last push to do Bitty's POV at the beginning of the chapter. 
> 
> Wow I finished this fic faster than I thought I would. Also wow I actually finished a long fic for once. I want to say thank you so much to all you for reading. Whether you started out with me from the beginning or have just found this today, I appreciate you. 
> 
> PB&J will always be my number one OT3 of this fandom, but I'm gonna take a little break from them.  
> A) I have a /long/ list of fics for other ships that I'm gonna be working on for a while B) I need a minibreak to recharge my batteries and enjoy other people's PB&J fics (I think I've been putting off reading other people's fics for a month now so it wouldn't mess up my flow) C) I have some other story ideas for them D) I already have 5k? figured out for the sequel but I need Ngozi to update so I can do more with Bitty's Junior year 
> 
> So stay tuned, and you can reach me on Tumblr if you'd like to talk/fangirl/suggest prompts.

**Author's Note:**

> Come say hi on [ Tumblr ](http://abominableobriens.tumblr.com/) . Shout out to [ Lauren ](http://lachenta.tumblr.com/) for being the world's best beta and friend.


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